The Iron Sea
by Saphyr88
Summary: New York, April 1912. The Carpathia arrives with the survivors of the infamous Titanic, among them Dr Helen Magnus, but whilst recovering from her ordeal at Tesla's Waldorf-Astoria suite an abnormal problem arises. Not just for Teslen shippers, I promise! Historical drama/Murder mystery. Now COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1 - Any Port in a Storm

**Author's Note:** It was episode 8 in Season 2 of Sanctuary - "Next Tuesday" - when Will half-jokingly asks Magnus if she was on the Titanic... the look on her face. Her reaction really struck me. There, right there, was a story Dr Helen Magnus of all people would rather not re-live. Then, I thought to myself, hang on a minute, didn't Wikipedia say that real-life Tesla was living in New York at that point? Well, thought I, there ain't NO WAY that if she'd been on the biggest civilian maritime disaster in history he wouldn't at least have gone to find out what had happened to her once news broke.

So what do we do with amazing moments like this! Why, write fan-fiction of course! Especially when there's a chance to write the Tesla-Magnus relationship accurately and not give in to the overwhelming desire to Teslen everything to the max. (Yeah, it's hard, but I try.) So the result should, hopefully, be a story that even Teslen haters can respect, if not enjoy. =D

We may get some Watson/Griffin in later, but the overwhelming majority of this story will be Magnus, Tesla and historical figures.

**Disclaimer:  
** Though I dearly wish I could make money by selling this as a script for the now-never-going-to-happen Season 5, this is a complete pipe-dream. I do dearly love these characters, and this fantastic show, but they do not belong to me, and I make no claim to them. Please don't sue. ;)

Ditto with the cover image. Screenshots of Ms Tapping and Mr Young as Magnus and Tesla are from "For King and Country" (2009 - I think) and belong to their respective owners. I'm only borrowing, not for profit, and hopefully not bringing anything or anyone into disrepute =D The image of the Titanic is in the public domain.

Now, on with the show...

* * *

_**9:30pm, Thursday 18**__**th**__** April, 1912, New York**_

The rain was warm. Or at least it seemed that way after the bitter, icy cold of the Atlantic. She'd never been so happy to see dry land, or the statue of liberty, in all her sixty-two years. New York was reassuringly full of noise, the sounds of water sloshing across dirty roads beneath car tires, the rattle of horse and carriage, a rumbling, electric sprawl, covered in lights. Gripping onto the railing was all she could do to stop herself jumping into the water and swimming to land, her heart was actually pounding.

Beyond the piers she could hear the crowds being held back; reporters, friends and family members, desperately calling out names which echoed in the long, enclosed harbour. Names of people who were probably dead. She shivered at the memory, thankful for the fact that she had broken with convention – as usual – and come alone.

The Carpathia had already come to a stand-still, but they weren't letting them off. Passengers soon started to get rowdy, fevered, stressed. She knew she should have been turning around and saying something to put everyone back in their place, but she couldn't. She couldn't even speak right now, she just kept staring, and staring, and staring. People were muttering, whispering around her. Something about a Senator Smith, and enquiries, and immigration.

Many long minutes later someone dared to place a hand on her arm. "Excuse me Ma'm?"

It took her a second to look the crew member in the eye, a boy of seventeen or so.

"We've been given permission to come ashore."

Then she realised there was a queue, and she was practically alone on deck. Relief was like sunshine inside of her. "Thank you." She remembered her manners, hesitant and quiet though it was, before joining the other remaining souls.

000

Tesla wasn't even going to begin attempting to get through that heaving mass of humanity, for the unlikely chance of catching a glimpse of her. He paused at the cab, surveying the scene. No one had been allowed off the boat yet, a rather flash automobile stood outside the pier, protected from the crowd which continued to shout and call as though anyone could make out a particular name or sentence out of that lot.

They'd have to go through immigration too… even if it was a speeded up process especially for the Titanic's survivors. He inwardly quashed the flip of terror inside his stomach at the thought of it. At the thought that Helen had been her usual punctual self and made it on board, at the fear that she had finally run out of luck, and found herself buried under an iron sea.

It was completely irrational of him. There was no way to tell. Not yet. They had no evidence either way, and with Magnus' odds… she'd have found a way, surely? Unless she had gone and done something typically, stupidly Helen, and offered up her place in a life-raft to somebody else: the worst part, was knowing that she probably had.

He tapped the top of his watch, checking the time before popping it back in his waistcoat pocket. It could be a while yet. Better to wait in the dry. He got back inside and instructed the cab driver to wait.

000

"Name?"

She took a second to reply, the American accent was so jarring, despite its sympathetic tone. "Helen. Helen Magnus."

"Date of birth."

"August 27th Eighteen-fift-" she caught herself, paused, and shook her head, remembering that her mortal self wouldn't be looking quite as spry at sixty-two. "Sorry, that's my mother's birthday," she lied, unable to make eye-contact and still awfully hushed, "August 27th Eighteen-seventy-six."

The immigration recorder eyed her momentarily, but let it pass. To be honest he'd questioned the point of all his. Why not let the poor bastards just go home already? Sometimes he hated being the bureaucracy.

"Place of origin: Great Britain, I presume?"

She nodded.

"Excellent. Thank you Miss Magnus. The US Government is affording you three months to decide whether you would like to file for citizenship or return home." He finished scribbling in his book, "You seem in good health. Do you have any family, or friends, you wish for us to contact here in America, or may we arrange for a hospital?"

Magnus automatically ran a diagnostic in her head of her own health. She'd not broken any limbs, her cuts and bruises had been tended to on the Carpathia, the cold had affected her toes and legs, but it wasn't anything she couldn't patch up.

"Miss Magnus?"

Her head snapped up to the immigration officer.

"Shall I arrange for a hospital?"

000

Tesla sighed impatiently. It was 11pm. What the hell were they doing with them, conducting the Spanish Inquisition? The taxi driver wasn't in any hurry, at however many extortionate dollars per hour, but he couldn't wait any longer. Getting out and stepping into the rain the driver made a noise.

"Oh don't worry yourself, I'll be back in five." Tesla groused, closing the door, and heading towards the pier.

The crowd had thinned somewhat. Some turned away with bad news, others exhausted from the rain and the wait, others, it seemed had found their loved ones as they finally exited the pier's passenger areas, onto the soaking street. He raised his eyebrow at the sight of Dorothy Gibson taking her first tentative steps, unsheltered, in the rain. All the reporters instantly flocked to her side, which was fortunate, in a way. In the hubbub surrounding the return of one of moving pictures' darling new stars, the crowd shifted from right in front of the doorway and enabled him to step through into the high-ceilinged entrance.

It was like nothing he'd ever seen. Beyond the cordons, and officials, lines of passengers – mostly women and children, huddled like weeping angels, still in linen shifts and heavy overcoats as though woken from their sleep. On the rows of benches they waited, hot coffee and tea in their hands, as the luckier ones sat at temporary desks answering a few brief questions. His eyes immediately scanned left to right, up and down, methodically assessing every head for the only one that mattered.

"Excuse me sir, you're not allowed to wait here."

He glared at the police officer, moustache bristling beneath curt, thinned lips. "I have no intention of waiting." He began to stride forward, the officer stepping into his way.

"A list will be released tomorrow morning."

"And I am here now, so I might as well-"

"Nikola?"

The voice was quiet, tired, worn, but nevertheless music to his ears. The shock, the relief, stunned him for a moment, the vulnerable look on his face all too telling. But the minute he caught sight of her he snapped back to his usual form like elastic.

"Helen Magnus," he smiled, in awe, "always at the centre of trouble."

Later, when he looked back at this moment, he would regret not sweeping her up immediately into the biggest hug imaginable, but at the time, it felt as though to do so, would be admitting defeat. An admission that someone actually had the power to make him fear for something other than himself... it was not a sensation he much cared for. Blame it on that damn Victorian upbringing if you must.

The police officer had stepped to one side, not that either of them had noticed. Magnus threaded her way towards him, pushing aside the barriers, her hands pale and small looking inside the oversized sleeves of the seaman's coat. Nikola stepped up to meet her, embracing her like they always did – as friends… though he could've sworn she held on a moment longer than was necessary.

It was like being rooted back into the ground, reality swept in on her, his contact like a lightning rod in a storm. She was just so glad to see a familiar face! There had been plenty of times she'd been glad Tesla had left for America – whenever the wine cellar was emptied, or the generators blew, or that awkward silence occasionally appeared over test-tubes and microscopes – but dear God, she'd never been as thankful as right now.

"How did you know?" she asked, straightening out and holding him at arms length in a manner he mirrored perfectly.

His eyes narrowed at her. Memory loss, was not a good sign. "You sent me that letter four weeks ago. About tickets to the greatest, fastest ship ever created, remember?"

She blanched, "Of course." Her fingers flexed, "How silly of me. I'd…" she trailed off with a faraway look, and Tesla was suddenly very keen to get her back and check her over.

"Come on." He said softly, "I'm sure the Waldorf-Astoria has enough Earl Grey and Breakfast Blend to set the entire Empire to rights."

000

Despite the offer of a perfectly made brew, there was one thing Helen was desperate for – warm clothes. Or at least a change of them. Tesla gave her the bathroom to freshen up, calling for tea, clean towels and a nightgown to be sent. She closed the bathroom door, trusting him enough in this situation to leave it unlocked, running the hot tap until the mirror steamed, and ripping off the clunky, days-old garments.

Her eyes crunched together, her lips peeling back from gritted teeth as though she'd been scolded by the fabric falling to the floor. She breathed, sucking in the moist, warm air about her face, hands whitening as she gripped the sink. Belatedly, just as the water neared the rim, she remembered to turn it off, and in the silence, that deafening silence, there was at least the flush of blood in her body rising to the top of her skin.

The tap dripped, and she stared at herself in the fog of the mirror, an indefinable shape in the mist. She didn't want to look at herself – she knew what she'd find. She'd seen enough of it on the patients dragged into the Sanctuary's OR, saw it on the faces of the passengers rescued from the pitiless sea.

God the sound of those screams.

A knock on the door made her jump, shook her to her senses, and she realised she was standing naked as the day she was born.

"Helen?"

Nikola. She reached for a towel, wrapping it around herself just in case. To her relief the door remained closed.

"I asked them to bring you some nightwear but the tea is here… if you want you can use my dressing gown."

She thought about it. Spend a few more modest moments in the solitude of a small, white box, panicking… or have someone to talk at her, soothingly, reassuring her that everything was normal again. As a doctor, she knew what she'd prescribe. As a patient, being with anyone right now was a taller ask than she ever thought possible.

"Helen, are you…"

"I'm fine." She bit out, harder than she had meant to, and instantly regretting the callousness. Her next words came out much nicer. "Thank you." She opened the door a smidgen, just enough to allow him to pass through the fabric and smile rather too confidently at her, as if he'd known she would accept.

Can't get between a Brit and their tea.

"I'll be out in a minute."

He nodded, backing off as the door came to a close, and, hands on hips, approaching the trolley placed near the roaring fire. What a day. He had barely realised before bringing her here the slew of considerations he had completely failed to factor in. He'd been so consumed, so possessed by the need to ascertain her safety that he'd not even thought about what she would wear… where she would sleep. That one shot a bolt down his spine: part excitement, part fear, and a whole lot of anxiety. She wouldn't permit him to share the same bed, he was sure and right now, after all she'd been through, he was a little ashamed of himself for even thinking it. He had never expressed his admiration for her, or clearly proclaimed his affections, and now could not be a _worse_ time to complicate matters.

The sofa. Yes, the sofa would be a much better option for his own sleeping arrangements. Aching back be damned. It was the very least he could do. The bathroom door opened and he realised that she'd taken a little longer than the minute she'd predicted to achieve the oh-so-complicated task of tying on his robe, but he let the comment slide. She could take all the time in the world, just so long as she kept breathing.

Tipping the liquid into the china cups, he glanced, semi-casually in her direction as one might a skittish pet easing itself into your view. The robe looked good on her, a little too good, he lamented, the slightly William-Morris-esque design looking less like curtains and more like a dress around her curves. The green satin, like her blonde waves, caught the firelight in the most spectacular way. He covered the stolen glance, concentrating on preparing the tea, and pretending he hadn't noticed the far-off look in her eyes.

"Here." He presented her with the cup, tea the correct colour, sweetness and size, perfect to the last counter-clockwise stir.

Finally she looked him in the eye. "Thank you." The sensation of warm china against her fingertips was almost as blissful as the first sip. Suddenly the world seemed a little more normal, the heat sliding down her gullet and calming her overwrought stomach with a taste of something which seemed like a luxury after ship-food and the stench of coffee. Speaking of which, she was glad Tesla had decided to forgo the vile compound he typically favoured.

He was watching her, as though making a study. She shouldn't have been surprised; it was what they'd trained themselves to do. No doubt he could see the discolouration on her toes, tucked against the arm of her chair, the fading bruise on her collarbone, the nasty scab on her cheek. She didn't look half as bad as she felt, but it didn't stop her feeling defensive under the scrutiny.

"I'm fine." She sighed determinedly, ushering a 'never-said-you-weren't' shrug from the vampire now sitting opposite her. "I've patched up enough people to know _I_ have nothing to worry about."

Tesla kept smiling, but it was that suit-yourself smile that knew she was obviously missing something which he, genius that he was, could see plain as day. For some reason, tonight, it irritated her beyond all belief. Scoffing she tipped some more tea down her throat, and stared determinedly into the flames.

"I'm just glad you're here."

She flicked her eyes at that, the earnest honesty of his statement unmistakable. It forced her to breathe deep, again, to suck back the tears of relief, of disbelief, lest she show her vulnerability. Pressing her knuckles against her lips helped too.

He sipped meditatively on the favoured drink. "I'll send a telegram to London tomorrow. Let everyone know you're safe."

She closed her eyes at the thought of James and Nigel, pacing the Sanctuary, awaiting imminent news of her death. Bloody ticket.

Moments of silence passed, minutes which Tesla, easily distracted as he was, wasn't entirely comfortable with. "You'll have to tell me some time."

"Hmm?" she frowned at him, a determined expression which didn't quite reach the eyes.

There was only one other time he could think of her looking quite this rattled… a dark time, a dark place, and not one he would ever wish her to return to. He did his best to keep her mind on the sly look he was giving her instead of his words.

"How you survived."

She looked at her fingers, anywhere but at him.

"I have to admit, I worried you'd given up your place on the life raft for the sake of your peculiar brand of altruism."

The half-formed words on her lips, the slightly stunned expression, told him she'd done exactly that.

He cursed in Serbian, under his breath, reigning in the urge to tell her how absolutely ridiculous, preposterous, perfectly stupid that had been in curt, snarky jabs.

"Oh please Nikola." She began, sounding the most Helen-like she had all night, "You weren't there. You-"

"You're right." He insisted, still clearly frustrated with her, "I wasn't." the fingers perched on his temples slipped back to the cup, "But let's not pretend that wasn't a stupid move in terms of your own chances."

"I'm really not the person you need to explain that to." She ground out, setting her cup on the trolley again and suddenly feeling a lot less in the mood for a fire-side tea party.

He sighed, suddenly, as she made to stand up, stopping her in her tracks, "Look, I'm sorry Magnus."

She looked to him expectantly, awaiting the retraction that would probably never come. He swung the cup back to its place next to hers, deftly extricating himself for his chair to stand before her, and straightening his jacket almost nervously.

"You are who you are. Reckless, determined, and brilliant…" he smirked at the uncertainty starting to fill her, the careful gauging of his flattery as she attempted to ascertain its truthfulness, and the motive behind it. "…we wouldn't have it any other way."


	2. Chapter 2 - From the Depths

She woke up with a start, the harrowing sounds of her dreams as real as the pigeons cooing beyond the window pane. Her heart, beating so violently she thought it might damage her lungs, slowed as the daylight flooded into her eyes, and the bedside table took shape next to her. Automatically, her hand reached for her gun, and it wasn't until her hand met nothing but wood that she remembered it had sunk into the depths along with hundreds of innocent people.

Rolling over, her head depressed the plush pillows and she stared at the bright white ceiling wondering how come the curtains were open when they'd been closed last night.

"Well, good morning Sleeping Beauty."

For a moment she panicked, head twisting instantly to the Tesla lain out like a cat on top of her bed sheets… well his sheets technically, but, Helen had always been remarkably territorial over sleeping arrangements. He was dressed from head to toe, immaculately as always – though his jacket was leaning on the back of a chair. It was the teasing grin which earned him _the stare_. For all his unnerving proximity, he was still a good two feet from her.

Common sense told her, from the brightness of his eyes, the crease-less attire, and the tamed hair that he had slept the night where she last saw him – on the sofa, and only joined her after waking up, probably hours ago. She eased on him, choosing to ignore the tease in his greeting; relaxing a little, despite the fact he was still sitting there and appeared to have no intention of moving.

"What time is it?" she asked, hugging the sheets higher up her chest as she sat up.

With a sigh he slinked off the bed and straightened himself out, "Seven. You only slept for six hours and twenty-four minutes."

Magnus studiously ignored the accurate measuring of her sleeping patterns, putting it down to Tesla's predilection for being right about _everything_ rather than a sign of concern.

"You should probably try and sleep some more."

That was, quite frankly, the last thing she wanted to do. She pushed her sheets, about to step out of bed and get ready when she remembered she didn't have any clothes. Damn it.

"I need to check in on the lab, but if you'd prefer some company…"

"No," she answered just a little too quickly, "No, thank you I'll, be fine. I think I'd rather… have a little time."

His lips automatically smiled a little at the unintentional rhyme. Magnus didn't do hysterics, and it wasn't just the British stiff-upper-lip coming through, but her sound, scientific mind. If she said she needed some time alone, he wasn't going to tell her otherwise. Though keeping an eye on her, from a distance, would probably prove a wise decision. "Very well," he stretched out and found his shoes, clearing his throat a little, "if you get bored, you know where to find me."

Watching him tying up his shoes on the edge of the bed, Helen somehow wished she had… somebody there to curl up with her and chase the nightmares away. Shame the last person to be there for her like that had _become_ one of those nightmares.

She needed to get out of this bed.

"Nikola? Are there, perhaps, some clothes…"

"Ah, of course, how remiss of me," he grinned, moving a wine glass from the top of a box on the coffee table, one set of finger tips resting on the lid as the others rested on his hip. "These are some… undergarments, sent last night to your size." Curious how even the word describing female underwear managed to make him uncomfortable, Helen mused, remembering how flustered he always used to get when Nigel started prodding him about _girls_. She watched him, walking back to the foot of the bed, fingers arching together, "And the maid brought a dress this morning, from the boutique across the street. Apologies if it is ill fitting, she approximated on the basis of seeing you and the…" he pointed his finger in the general direction of the unmentionables.

Helen tried not to chuckle, making her smile warm, and her eyes sparkle for the first time since she'd made land. Tesla was oblivious to the cause of it, naturally, but the sight was most welcome nonetheless. He smiled warily in return, before regaining his composure.

"Now," he began sharply, swivelling round to find and retrieve his jacket, "if you require anything at all there is a maid and a butler available – just press… here, to call."

"I'll be fine," she reasserted. It wasn't a statement she entirely believed. In fact the more she said it, the less honest it felt.

The brief pause he made, standing in the doorway, told her he knew it was otherwise, but he said nothing on it. The tight press of his lips was the only indication that he wished he could have, without complicating things beyond repair.

"Shall I meet you for lunch, or will you be searching for a new wardrobe?" Great, he thought to himself, make it obvious you want to know where she is every second of the day. Could he sound anymore protective? Probably… but even this level was strange and uncomfortable to the Serbian scientist.

Magnus, however, didn't seem to notice, the thought of mundane trivialities like clothes shopping so alien after the last week that it panicked her a little. It wasn't just clothes either. Her medical bag, a new journal, damn it that was three months' worth of research in those pages – gone, all gone.

"Helen?"

She snapped back to reality, "Hmm, yes. I probably should. Thank you for the offer," She managed a weak smile, "perhaps dinner instead?"

He smiled quite warmly, genuinely, at that, remembering fondly the dusky colours of the Hotel Miraflora by candlelight. The look she gave was guileless, perhaps she hadn't realised yet the connection, simply said it on instinct: but how could it be coincidence, when it had been the last dinner they'd shared alone, a decade ago, and such a beautiful night?

"I don't want to keep you from your work, anyway."

How could he have ever met such a woman as this? He mused.

"If you're certain," he smirked, "Then Dinner it shall be."

She nodded with a sense of amazement, wondering what thought had put such a human look on his typically incomprehensible face just now. It was probably his admiration for her inability to obstruct the path of science and her friends, despite everything she'd been through. Trust Tesla to bring everything back to his work. Magnus wasn't one for kid gloves though, her comment had stemmed from the simple fact that the sooner they went about life as normal, the better she would feel. It sounded more selfish that way, but it was the reality.

Without another word Nikola tipped his head goodbye and left her to her own devices, closing the door on his way out to give her a little privacy. She heard his footsteps until the entrance clicked shut, and even with the hum of traffic down below, the silence hit her like a sledge hammer. The hotel suite felt suddenly very large, and very empty indeed.

0 0 0

The honk of horns was like a fanfare for her entrance, as she hurried into the hotel lobby and shut out the hectic road behind. The precariously balanced boxes in her hands threatening to betray her, wobbling at the force with which she hit the marble floor until she forcibly stopped herself moving, for a moment. Closing her eyes she attempted to reassert an air of calm which right now Helen Magnus was certainly not feeling, her skin flushed, nerves shot, gut twisting anxiously at every small nudge.

She'd never really been one for _shopping_. Not like her aunts had been, not like the girls she had befriended as a teenager, still, she had never felt quite so overwhelmed as this. Perhaps it was the tall buildings and rude claustrophobia of New York, or the way the shop attendants made her feel like a ragamuffin, a pauper who shouldn't be there. It was foolish, she knew, she had every damn right to grace their boutiques with her presence, and if she'd played the victim card she'd have probably gotten a discount too. Too bad the thought of their pity made her skin crawl.

So it was that, less than three hours after stepping out, preferring to walk and having gotten no further than West 53rd, she had decided enough was enough.

It was not a retreat… she was simply resting her nerves. The thought made her scoff. Since when had she ever been the kind to _rest her nerves_?

_Come on old girl_, she thought to herself, channelling some of Watson in the process, _buck up_.

At least she'd held out long enough not to come back empty handed. Though she was now regretting having insisted, a little too firmly in hindsight, that she carry the boxes back herself.

"Excuse me ma'm, allow me?" One of the bell boys had approached her in those two seconds of respite, and he looked to her like the tin soldier, arms outstretched to take her belongings.

"Oh, oh thank you," she smiled warmly, suddenly unsure of what to do with her arms, "Er… could you send them up to Mr Tesla's suite, I think I shall take some tea."

Thank God the clothes she'd been given were presentable. Nothing flashy, or expensive, but at least they fit… kind of. The maid's choice wasn't particularly _flattering_, but at least it didn't look ridiculous - which was something when navigating the social mine-field of the Tea Room. Magnus had absolutely no intention of striking up an acquaintance anyway; she simply wanted to immerse herself in an atmosphere that was busy, but congenial, and a mite less temper-inducing.

She unfurled the roll of dollar-bills from her pocket – she hadn't gotten as far as accessories yet – and tipped the bell boy as though it were her own money. The fact that it wasn't, really didn't matter to the ever-practical doctor.

When she had finally realised that she was going to need some money she'd cursed out loud at her own stupidity. That was, until she spied the envelop on the mantelpiece, with a distinctly Tesla-esque scrawl across its front. She was lucky to have such friends, she knew. Wherever she landed, even here, on the other side of the Atlantic, she could rely on them to put her back on her feet. One day she'd have to repay him. Even if he insisted she needn't. It was too much to just give away… and besides, when Tesla had money to burn it wasn't necessarily a good sign. He had absolutely no fiscal moderation, as their time spent sharing a laboratory had proven on more than one occasion, and that's before he started getting inventive with the finances.

Half-way down the corridor to the tea room, the large lobby clock chimed 10:30am. It was unusually busy, she noted suspiciously, seeing a uniformed seaman duck through a nearby doorway. The sound of a gavel hammering onto wood emitted out of a private function room in an oddly authoritative way. Frowning, Magnus found herself drawn to the door even as the crowd of men gathering inside became so many that, still standing, their progress ground to a resounding halt.

She'd reached the edge of the room, tucked just inside the doorway and suddenly very glad of her plain attire. Realising she was the only woman in the room, she was more than thankful that she'd pulled back her hair this morning with a less feminine flourish, and been without ownership of a hat. At the moment she could just about pass unnoticed, hidden behind one of the taller men. Everyone's focus was elsewhere anyway, directed to the heavy wooden table, and the man at its head, clean shaven, grey haired, and in possession of a large, but not undignified nose. Around him, Helen recognised a few of New York's political elite, though without names marking their places she couldn't quite remember their importance. The crowd had continued to murmur, so the gavel came down again.

"Gentlemen." A spindly, civil-service type stood and announced, "Order please. The time is 10:30 a.m., this is a United States Senate Inquiry for the recent loss of life, during the sinking" Helen's stomach lurched but the man hadn't paused a second, "of the RMS Titanic, White Star Line. Senator chair is Senator William Alden Smith," Helen heard him carry on but she wasn't listening. Her face felt numb, buzzing slightly, all the hallmarks of shock, but she didn't faint, _couldn't_ faint. Blanched of all colour her pale face stared at the mass of dark suits and tried to swim to the surface.

Senator Smith had been speaking, for quite some time, "…I will ask Mr. J. Bruce Ismay to come forward and take the stand."

She gritted her teeth, watching as Mr Ismay made himself apparent. To think, she'd been sitting at dinner with that man not four days ago, now look at him. He hadn't a scratch on his body. The same could not be said for his soul. His eyes were dark, haunted, his skin pale, his wrinkles – which had seemed so refined before, made him appear somewhat haggard and worn. It stole the anger out of her a little, reminding her, as a wounded creature always did – abnormal or not – that there were very few beings out there which did not deserve a second chance.

He took his oath with a brave face, but little enthusiasm, knowing, as if he didn't already, that the responsibility for all this would fall to him. Even if he hadn't been at fault, even if he was blameless, his destiny was now forfeit to the press' portrayal. Coward or hero. That's what it would come down to.

"Mr. Ismay," Senator Smith began matter-of-factly, "for the purpose of simplifying this hearing, I will ask you a few preliminary questions. First state your full name, please?"

"Joseph Bruce Ismay."

"And your place of residence?"

"Liverpool."

"And your age."

The hearing kicked off, a series of questions and answers. It was absolutely surreal, to be able to put actual memories to the descriptions coming out of someone else's mouth.

"…would like to express my sincere grief at this deplorable catastrophe… … we welcome it. We court the fullest inquiry. We have nothing to conceal; nothing to hide… … The weather during this time was absolutely fine, with the exception, I think, of about 10 minutes' fog one evening."

Yes, Helen remembered it well. She thought she'd caught sight of an as yet unidentified marine species, some kind of giant electrical eel – or at least, that's what it looked like. Flashes of pale blue, then pale yellow, like a signal, but moving beneath the glassy water in the same wave-like pattern as an eel or snake. She'd only noticed it because she'd been unable to sleep, and, wondering whether staring at the dark ocean might be more interesting than the ceiling, she'd taken a walk. Then the fog had cleared in minutes and that was the end of that brief encounter. It had occurred to her that the combination of darkness and fog might've confused it into thinking it was further from the surface, seen as though it disappeared pretty quickly. Of course, all her notes were now gone…

"The accident took place on Sunday night." Ismay's voice had gone soft, "What the exact time was I do not know. I was in bed myself, asleep, when the accident happened."

For a second Helen remembered the almighty shudder in her bed, then, later, the rattle, of the floor boards and that groan… that echo of metal bending and pressure changing.

"The ship sank, I am told, at 2:20."

The water had been icy. If it hadn't have been for the fat she'd somehow found – God, how did she even find a pack of lard?! And rubbed between her skin and layers she'd have… and the way it pounded into the water, the wrong way up, crushing all those souls into the surf.

"That, sir, I think is all I can tell you." Ismay thought about it a moment, clearly struggling to put aside his own fevered memories in favour of the facts, "I understand it has been stated that the ship was going at full speed. The ship never had been at full speed. The full speed of the ship is 78 revolutions. She works up to 80. So far as I am aware, she never exceeded 75 revolutions. She had not all her boilers on. None of the single-ended boilers were on. It was our intention, if we had fine weather on Monday afternoon or Tuesday, to drive the ship at full speed. That, owing to the… unfortunate catastrophe, never eventuated."

It sounded detached, because that's precisely what he wished he could be. Magnus listened, as though in a trance, half expecting someone, anyone, to recognise her and demand she join Mr Ismay in explaining it all. How could you? How could you even begin? It was like explaining the existence of abnormals without a specimen to prove, beyond doubt, that what you're saying was true.

"…In what part of the ship were your quarters?" The senator asked.

Ismay showed him on the map, explaining the First Class decks, and Magnus knew she couldn't leave. As the words flowed the memories followed, and she looked death in the face yet again. His ignorance of what was happening on that ship was astounding, but she didn't think he was lying. As far as he saw, it was the case. Of course, he knew differently now. He had just been told about the women who had rowed themselves away, the life boats which were engulfed… the truth had a nasty taste to it, and desperation too.

"You did not see her go down? …You did not care to see her go down? …When did you last see her?"

"I do not know… I could not say… No. I am glad that I did not."

Magnus knew that if she could find a way to un-see those sights, she would have been glad for it too, and still, still, she could never have turned away. Even with the cold creeping into her skin, when it looked like she'd never be dry, never be warm, never live to see the dawn again – she could not turn away.

* * *

**Post-note**: I found the transcripts online, so what Ismay and Smith are saying is literally from the inquiry. =D Cool eh? A big thank you to Sparky She-Demon, agrainne24 and the guest who commented on my first chapter! =) It's so lovely to hear such words of encouragement so early on. Ah, the lure of the Titanic… I hope you continue to enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3 - Out from Underneath

"Seven lifeboats, one emergency boat," a stalwart northerner testified, "which is on the same principle as the lifeboat, practically, only it is a smaller and handier boat, and two collapsible boats."

"The one that was in the tackle was the last boat that was attempted to be lowered…"

Tesla phased out at the mild hint of Great Lake accent, deciding from tone alone that the man was the sort to check his tools, then double check, the double check again before finding the manual and following it… _to the letter_. Infuriatingly dull. The other character, it seemed, was far more astute.

As he came into view he could see the testifying officer's impenetrable stare, like two immovable stones waiting for something that would succeed in shaking them. He wasn't challenging his questioners in the sense of lying, but in the sense of daring them to disbelieve his righteousness. It was the kind of look Tesla could remember in the eyes of his father at a Sunday sermon.

"Four."

"And sixteen of another type?"

"Yes, sir."

Assessing the room, head by gentleman's head, he caught sight of her, over on his right; the only skirt there, naturally. From where he stood, he couldn't make out her expression. She was watching over someone's shoulder, keeping herself unobtrusive – hiding, one might say. It matched the way she clutched her own arms against her body, her shoulders raised defensively, with feet rock-steady and shoulder's width apart.

"You must have been painfully aware of the fact that there were not enough boats there to care for that large passenger list, were you not?"

That titbit caught Tesla's attention. What idiot didn't supply the ship with enough lifeboats for the passengers? He frowned, paying momentary attention as they moved onto how they were released from deck.

It was a new design. Any inventor knew that if there was something that _might_ go wrong, it probably would, at some point. Why ignore something you actually had the foresight to plan for? His disdain for such idiocy caused an involuntary sneer. _People_. He hated people. Helen didn't classify. He'd known her too long. Which is why, despite himself, he'd come home earlier than his usual six p.m., and been somewhat disappointed to find nothing but a few boxes.

They could've been sent up at any point of the day, but when she had failed to appear for an entire hour, he'd begun to suspect she'd forgotten him… and the fact that he _always dined at eight_. It wasn't a huge leap to figure out how. After all, the glitter of a New York shopping spree wasn't going to distract a woman who spent more time eying up medical equipment than shoes.

No, it was this morning, whilst impatiently waiting to send Griffin and Watson news of Helen's survival from the unusually busy Telegraph Office, that he'd over heard. Two journalists ahead of him had been muttering about an Inquiry at the Waldorf-Astoria, for the Titanic… naturally. To say that knowledge had been distracting was an understatement. Should he inform her, keep her away, avoid the topic, go back now and make sure she wasn't rocking back and forth in a corner – it had literally been on his mind all day. Not even three rather expensive bottles of Margaux could quite convince his frontal lobe to snap out of it and focus on converting electric energy into controlled pulses. He tried rationalising it, and every time returned to the inescapable observation that his affections for Magnus had become completely, entirely irrational. A progression – a _fact_ – he realised grimly, that he had simply been avoiding, ignoring, and escaping from, for the last twenty years.

"Of course, I saw Mr. Murdoch there when finally I had finished on the port side."

"You went to the starboard side?"

There was movement as a few of the people near the door decided to leave. Whether it was from boredom, emotional turmoil, or a simple desire to eat, Tesla wasn't bothered. Food was something he fancied procuring sooner rather than later, of course, and the thought of forgoing his routine was making him antsy. Taking advantage of their departure Nikola shifted a little further into the room, easing his way through the crowd to sidle up to Magnus.

"And you saw him there?"

"I saw him there."

As he moved the men around him started to take note of their surroundings, and realise, to their surprise that there was a woman in their midst. Their shock completely failed to distract Helen however, which was unusual. No matter what she said, Nikola knew she was painfully aware of all the little ways men challenged her right to move amongst them, to think for herself.

She didn't even glance to see who, or what, had moved into her peripheral vision.

"No, sir;" the survivor replied, "except for boat drill of course, that was not boat drill."

"I thought we had a date," Tesla murmured ironically, finally turning to look at her properly.

The concentration on her face was intense; more absorbed than even the most fascinating of abnormal dissections, more gritted and grim than the night they'd lost Mr Hyde himself in the South African nightscape.

Perhaps dinner in the restaurant would be a bad idea. She was barely there, her presence of mind clearly disrupted by the situation, and without so much as a glare from her he was already regretting the smart-arsed comment.

"Helen?" he probed, but she was particularly slow to respond.

When she did, it was only to flash a frown at him for the disturbance.

"I take it you're not hungry then?"

Another frown, this time more of a death glare, "Nikola. Be quiet."

He sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as if for mercy. Automatically he opened his mouth to start an argument, but stopped himself just short of speaking. What could he say to make her leave? He knew that look. It was hell or high-water. Stubborn as she was, if this was where she wanted to be, he'd have to have a better reason than food, or routine, to argue with. Telling her that reliving that night wasn't a good idea so soon wasn't going to cut it, even if he had the anxious feeling that it was true. She wasn't going to go anywhere until she wanted to – and he knew it.

Irritated, but resigned, Tesla settled back against the wall, arms crossed. He'd put money on her talking in her sleep tonight (again) after dredging up such fresh trauma.

"You only had nine seamen to seven boats?"

"Well, I have only been telling you approximately. As far as ever I could I put two seamen in a boat. If I didn't have a seaman there I had to put a steward there."

As the line of questioning steered away from the mundane minutia of lifeboats and towards the subject of the sinking itself, Tesla found himself genuinely interested. Brief flashes of experience, of truth, popped and crackled from the man's matter-of-fact testimony. The confusion on the deck, the lack of officers, the recruitment of stewards who'd been directing passengers to the dining room hours before, to man the rafts as crew… it was something of a revelation.

The vampire found his eyes flicking, constantly, to Magnus. Observing her expression for any hint of what she'd been through as Mr Lightoller, second officer, told the US Senators how thirty crew members huddled on an overturned boat, how others were plucked from the water by those lifeboats which had generously decided to turn back. The shocking statistics elicited many a shaking head; out of 900 crew members, only 210 survived, many of them having given up their chance for the women and children first.

"Why did you do that?" Senator Smith enquired, as though such a notion could have had some kind of ulterior motive, "Because of the Captain's orders, or because of the rule of the sea?"

The Lancastrian visibly bristled at the suggestion, "The rule of human nature."

"The rule of human nature?" Smith didn't sound half as disbelieving as Tesla would've in his position, at the notion of human nature being anything but a selfish desire to survive, "And there was no studied purpose, as far as you know, to save the crew?"

"Absolutely not."

Helen's eyes cast down at that, eyes moistening but never daring to betray her, her breath hitching slightly at a memory she would likely never wish to share. Tesla could hear her heart pick up a pace, like many of the others in the hushed room.

The tale continued; a sad litany of disasters growing more direct as the minutes wore on and their stomachs began to growl. It was baffling, how concerned the Americans were with their countrymen's behaviour, Smith enquiring as to how well they had acquitted themselves as if their nation somehow had the duty of showing the world how. Gradually, however, the Senator's questioning grew less nit-picky, and Lightoller's descriptions became more shocking to the ears.

With the steadiness of a sailor, the officer explained how the ship tilted forwards, until the crows nest was level with the water and the bridge submerged. Some 2,000 people still on that boat as it went under, Smith estimated aloud: engineers, firemen, trapped below deck, the roaring engines at searing temperatures hitting the freezing water. Tesla closed his eyes at the thought, knowing full well what kind of effect _that_ might have, and struggling to reconcile the cold facts with the knowledge that Helen had lived every minute of it.

Lightoller had been pulled under himself, the suction yanking him down, holding him against the grating as water rushed inside, into the belly of the ship. He'd been trapped, in that icy prison, saved by the grace of the boilers exploding, blowing him out like a whale. Barely thrown away from the ship, the officer had ended up alongside an upturned lifeboat, only to watch helplessly as a funnel fell upon it, and crushed the survivors clinging on. At that point, the ship was still only half submerged, the stern at an angle, which he colourfully demonstrated with his hand.

Yet, without a drop of abnormal blood in him, without any super-healing abilities, with nothing, it seemed, but the grace of God, he had survived all that. Luck. It elicited the same sensation in Tesla as it did Magnus: a terrified disbelief that she stood here at all.

"You had better give their initials," Smith instructed the officer, and the tiring task of locating the living and dead disrupted the captivated silence.

It was only then that Helen looked away from Office Lightoller, as if waking from a trance, and despite her best efforts she couldn't avoid Nikola's gaze for long. The look of concern on his face nearly dissolved her façade, threatening to offer a comfort she wasn't ready to receive. Clearing her throat, with an authority she didn't really feel, she blinked away the tumult of sensations and exhaled.

"Come on, I suppose we had better-"

"Right," he interrupted, which meant there was something he really wanted to say, but there was a pause, a silence where it was hastily deleted from the conversation. In its place, the more familiar, if slightly hesitant version of his smile emerged, "I'm famished, how about you?"

0 0 0

She was going to kill him. Trapped in the middle of a bustling restaurant, where every eye, it seemed, eventually turned her way, was _not_ her idea of recuperating. All it took was one short silence, to hear the mutters of conversation to her side, in front and behind. The number one topic of conversation: every uneducated opinion on the tragedy and drama of something their pampered noggins couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Barely as far as the starters, and already she was fuming: it was a record, even for Tesla.

"Relax Helen," The clever smile faded somewhat, as her more than hostile stare amped up a few degrees at the suggestion. He began making a study of the wine glass sat on the table at his hand.

"Relax?" she bit archly.

His eyes flashed to her in all seriousness, knowing full well what he was putting her through, and why. Still he managed to shrug nonchalantly, before avoiding her eyes again, "No one knows."

"Knows what?"

"All they see," he smirked at her languidly, "is a beautiful woman, in a beautiful dress."

She scoffed instantly. None of this would have been half as bad if it hadn't have been for the damn _dress_.

As they'd returned to the apartment she'd agreed with his logic. It was true, she _should_ make an effort not to shut herself away, but finding a dinner dress already laid out on the bed was a step too far. Finding out that it looked positively spell-binding on her was even worse. His presumption was _beyond_ infuriating, and quite how he'd managed to corral her down here in the first place, she was still trying to figure out.

Her smile wasn't a happy one. "This isn't funny Nikola."

"Am I laughing?"

Her resolve not to cause a scene and draw attention to herself was slowly slipping, "Do you really think my idea of a perfect evening, right now, includes sitting beneath the world's scrutiny and stroking _your_ _ego_?"

"Well," he tried not to appear ruffled by the comment, "one, the world isn't in this room, and even if it was, it wouldn't know what it was looking at. And two," a finger in the air as usual, "this isn't about me, for once… but you."

"Oh? Really? How gracious of you."

"Snap all you want Helen, but it won't change the fact that you need to face this, and I'm just trying to help."

"And making me beyond uncomfortable is a successful tactic is it?"

"I was attempting the very opposite," he smarmed.

"Nikola."

"Alright," the flirting disappeared, replaced with a far more palatable combination of frustration and determination. It was the same look he gave a highly annoying scientific problem that had proven unsolvable for far too long, an expression that Magnus knew well. "But consider for a moment, _why_ it is you feel uncomfortable. Is it the dress, or the thought that they pity you: _their_ attention, or mine?"

Magnus pressed her lips together in annoyance, but something held her back from arguing. Behind those stern blue eyes the cogs were turning, whirring away. He was right, damn it, and she wasn't sure what worried her more. Being this emotionally compromised by that damn ship, or that she wasn't as bothered by Nikola's haphazard advances as she'd been making out… and he knew it.

Quietly the waiter removed their plates in preparation for the main. Neither of them blinked an eye.

No, it was the ship. She could trust Nikola to put their friendship, their camaraderie before _any_ other personal feelings, just like he had when they'd been forced to cooperate with John not four years ago. That night, on the other hand… could it really have been less than a week ago? She still couldn't quite grasp it.

When she'd walked into this room, decked with beaded embroidery like a midnight sky, pale silk gloves reaching over the elbow, she couldn't have felt more exposed. It felt as though every eye had turned on her – the gentleman two tables down with the dark, mid-parted hair, the ladies to the left muttering behind fans in between courses. It couldn't have been her appearance, surely? Surely someone recognised her, perhaps one of them had been there too, or had seen her at the inquiry? Someone was going to realise that she was a survivor – and her stomach had flip-flopped at the thought of what they might ask, what they might say… what she might reply with in return. She knew it wouldn't be pleasant. New York socialites, by and large, were atrociously probing gossips compared to their London counterparts, something Magnus wasn't known to abide for long. At least in England they'd have left well enough alone… and now she was trapped here.

As much as she didn't want to be prodded like a specimen at the dinner table, however, she had no desire to be mollycoddled, or handled with care: a situation which, if she felt that vulnerable simply walking into a room, would become unavoidable.

_Better face it then_, she reminded herself, steeling her heart and twitching her hand around the cutlery as the main course arrived. She still wished she had a gun though. The cold weighty metal would have been… reassuring.

Tesla had picked up his cutlery too, but his eyes were still fixed on her, waiting for a response: preferably one with an apology or expression of thanks attached. Eventually she sighed. He always had had a flair for dramatics. Silently, but unwaveringly, she dug into the main course with slightly less venom than the first, and the moment dissolved into quiet, dinner-fuelled contemplation.

The sirloin was delicious, the mushrooms and creamed carrots slid across the palette. Even after devouring their first course not minutes ago it felt like months since she tasted real food. Her tongue resuscitated at each flavour, her stomach welcoming the nourishment with a twinge of complaint at her neglect. Breakfast had been a basic affair, and lunch… she wasn't entirely sure whether or not she'd skipped lunch entirely. After ship rations on the Carpathia her insides had become accustomed to small portions of tasteless food but this, this was, almost hedonistic in comparison.

She reached greedily for the burgundy, remembering herself in time to chew and swallow before gulping down the fine red and letting it dance amongst the juices. She risked a glance across the table as she did so, and realised he was still watching her. Beneath Nikola's stare, unrelenting even as he tipped his own glass and sipped at the wine, she could feel the overwhelming pressure to _say_ something in return.

"It would have been appreciated if we'd stood out a little less," She muttered in surrender.

He chuckled at that, sounding somewhat relieved, "We've always stood out from the crowd Helen. Besides," his eyebrow rose, "since when did you become so demure in your sartorial choices? I seem to remember a preference for red when we were at Oxford."

Magnus smiled faintly at the memory, the autumnal leaves and wide-eyed stares of the new bachelor scholars that first time they'd met. It was true. She'd never been the shrinking violet, the wallflower, the ghost in the room; to start being that woman now would be like denying who she was. Helen Magnus did not shrink from danger, did not hesitate to challenge what she knew to be wrong, she did not fear the eyes and tongues of men who thought themselves clever. If she did it today, tonight, tomorrow… well, it was a slippery slope to becoming a person she would no longer respect.

"And last I checked," she remembered, "it was still particularly forward of a man to present a woman with a dress she's never tried on."

"Well, I take it from the minimal number of boxes upstairs you didn't get particularly far with your wardrobe today."

"Hmm, you could say that." She replied distantly, a faint look of confusion as she zoned into the conversation at another table. Just a few hushed lines and nothing more, of a discussion on Mr Ismay's _cowardly behaviour_.

"And, I didn't see any evening dresses."

Magnus' attention snapped back to the Serb with amazement, "Unbelievable." How dare he go looking through her clothes, "Do you have any regard for other people's privacy?"

He couldn't resist the cocky grin despite the fact that he hadn't, in fact, looked. Thought about it, yes, plucked up the courage, no. The pleasure he expressed was more for the ease with which he'd pushed her buttons, and caused that fabulous intensity in her eyes. She might be glaring, true, but her attention was here, and not _there_, languishing in the depths of a maritime disaster.

"Remind me to shoot you later."

"Oh not that old chestnut. Can you at least make sure you don't destroy the suit this time?"

She grinned, evilly, relaxing into their usual banter with another sip of wine. Minx. She had no idea what that oh-so-superior confidence could do to a man.

"I'll take it off if it helps," He insinuated.

Helen nearly choked on the drink, actually blushing. She couldn't remember him ever being so bold as to suggest _that_ before. "I'm not sure that will be necessary Nikola." She eyed him with amazement – was this just for her benefit? She hoped so. Last thing she needed was for him to have actually meant it.

Feigning disappointment, despite feeling it just a little, Tesla smiled to himself, recalling the way she'd flirted with him that time in Peru. Back then, _he'd_ been the one surprised, with the ease with which she drew out his barely voiced allusions into fully formed innuendo, before briskly batting them back. Until then, it had been a game they'd never indulged in playing, and ever since he'd been plagued by the notion that perhaps she had regretted it. She'd never once mentioned the intimacy of that delightful evening, or the ancient cave, or the stupid multi-headed shark they'd completely failed to capture. Then again, in those ten intervening years, they'd not once had time alone to themselves.

Perhaps tonight he could remind her, recall the conversations which had made him feel so close. Maybe, with a little encouragement, she wouldn't run away this time.

"So, go on," he continued, leaning across the table, wine-glass perched in his hand, "bore me with the details of your day."

"I spent most of it at the… hotel, actually."

He could see she was thinking about the ship again. Not good. "When did you get back?"

"Early." She polished off her food, "I couldn't stand it for long."

"Ah, let me guess, the triviality of white or pale green, silk or satin, was driving you mad."

She gave a dry chuckle, "Partially, the assistants were rather grating."

His lip curled at the simpering of a sales pitch, "Hmm. No doubt."

"One of them spoke to me like I had never seen a fur coat before! Honestly, I was this far away from giving her a do-you-know-who-I-am speech," she grimaced at the thought of how much she would've regretted it if she had.

"Seems they brought out the pensioner in you," He teased.

She kept her cool and didn't rise to the bait. "Something like that. I didn't stick around for long; even carried the boxes back myself."

The thought of her taking umbrage in such a typically Magnus fashion made him laugh, "They must have been positively scandalised."

Helen felt, bizarrely, proud of herself at the suggestion.

It had felt good, hadn't it, striking out on her own without paying heed to their old notions of civility? The notions she'd put up with, worked around, and tolerated all her life.

The conversation moved seamlessly after that, studiously avoiding the ocean in favour of the expedition she and Nigel had been on last month in the south of France. From the Midi to New York, and Tesla's latest inventions, his on-going spat with Marconi over the radio patents. Helen mentioned James' latest discovery in the Peridax species, and discussed their ideas for expanding overseas: a line of thinking which clearly pleased Tesla no end.

By the time they left the dining hall Helen could almost have forgotten the last week, and presumed she'd been here the whole time. It was a nice fantasy, but in the hallway she experienced a sound thwack to reality.

"I understand that; but I am not prepared to meet that request." Senator Smith's voice had taken a more resolved tone, as it echoed through the partially open door of the conference room.

Tesla looked at her the minute she paused, his stomach plummeting. Of course, the inquiry was back in session again and naturally enough she was drawn to the sound of it. After all that time, painstakingly rebuilding some sense of normality, and she was going to throw it away. He tugged on her fingers a little, forcing her to look at him – but she didn't scowl as she might've two hours ago.

_Please_, that look on his face said, _don't go back in there_.

Still, he had to say it just to be sure: "Helen?"

"I…" she paused, overhearing the other male voice complaining as politely as he could that he couldn't keep tabs on everybody, all the time. The tension in that voice rattled with his despair, the pain and suffering. She shuddered, her body already moving away from the door… which happened to be in Nikola's direction. "I don't think it would be wise." She managed, muttering as though to herself.

Tesla couldn't really hide the sigh of relief.

"Quite enough for one day."

"My thoughts exactly," he replied, moving his hand thoughtlessly to the small of her back.

It took all of about five seconds before she smacked it away.

* * *

**Post note**:

Hello new readers and thank you for all the lovely comments! You really are too kind, and it's wonderful to hear you're not only enjoying it, but think it's good. My heart leaps for joy at the thought I may have conveyed anything with any degree of accuracy. =D Ah the Titanic… and come on guys, you gotta admit, history is cool (especially when you get to change it!). Also, behold the development of the more pointedly flirty Tesla that we know and love.

P.S. It just occurred to me that I can't really think of a good reason why he'd get shot before this point. I'm presuming she was forced to shoot him the first time he went vampy on them otherwise… besides being a jack ass Tesla doesn't really do anything reprehensible until a bit later than this. *shrug* oh well. Come up with your own reasons folks, maybe it was all part of the plan? Anyways…

Next time, the mystery begins. *wiggles fingers dramatically*


	4. Chapter 4 - Distraction by Degrees

The morning was that odd combination of illuminated gun metal grey, where the spring light refused to get tied up amongst the clouds. There would be rain, there always was, but it would be short, sharp and fleeting. Helen was still in the suite, despite the fact she'd been awake for over an hour now, mulling over her breakfast as though it had the capability of multiplying and providing her with the perfect excuse to stay. It was more substantial than yesterday, eggs and hash browned potatoes, a little bacon, all tasting distinctly American, but exquisite nonetheless.

She had to admit feeling a twinge of regret alongside the relief when Tesla had announced he couldn't join her. Something told her she should have enquired as to why, but her mind had been elsewhere, lingering on the darkness from which she had awoken, just as she had the night before. It was jarring beyond belief, to realise you were somewhere so safe, so non-threatening, when seconds before your mind had been convinced of its imminent demise. So he had sprinted off, something about the lab again, and left her to the comforts of a freshly cooked breakfast in bed.

Well, she hadn't stayed in bed very long. It felt too much like being an invalid, though she was sure that hadn't been the intention. Reaching for Nikola's robe as though it were now her own, she wrapped the cord around her and padded with her tray into the living room. The borrowed item didn't swamp her like the hardy seaman's coat had, though she had to admit, she was growing quite fond of the feeling of being enveloped in something warm and secure. Even if it did come with the faintest hint of Nikola's cologne – not too much to overpower, but enough to keep making her think he'd reappeared in the room.

Sitting by the fire-side, watching the pinkish embers of last night's flames over her morning tea, Helen was now trying to reconcile the need to put her life in order, with the fact that this necessitated walking within range of the Titanic Inquiry. She wasn't sure whether her sudden instinct to avoid the place was more from a fear of recalling it so soon after her dreams, or the fact that if she let herself waltz in there she'd probably never leave. It would be like an irresistible iron ball, dragging her beyond reach.

She sighed, her own indecision beginning to annoy her, and stood up, cup in hand, to pace towards the window. Something about skylines always seemed to clear Magnus' head – the open sky, the overwhelming size of it all, the infinite possibilities. Picking her way between the furniture she realised there was actually a luncheon table, perfectly located next to the view. Clearly it wasn't being used for its intended purpose, however, covered as it was in a rather un-table-shaped sheet.

Magnus couldn't resist, lifting up the cover a little with her free hand to peek beneath, and frowning in interest at the contraption.

"What are you up to now Nikola?" she muttered to herself, flipping back the corner and beholding an utterly baffling array of copper wires, clips, and spark plugs.

Problem with Nikola's inventions were they never came with a manual. Well, it was one way of making sure you were needed, thought Helen, knowing full well how many of his colleagues, employers and assistants would like to be shot of him at the first opportunity; liability that he so often was. She smirked a little, enjoying the fact that he wasn't there to complain at the supposed unfairness of her comment.

Carefully setting the china at a distance from his invention she exposed it properly, balling up the linen and throwing it across the back of a chair in order to get a proper look. The spark plugs were familiar to her, a key design in transferring electrical charge and creating said spark. He'd once explained the concept to her over fifteen bottles of wine after the fire at 5th Avenue, whilst lamenting the fact that he still couldn't get pie-eyed. The topic seemed to perk him up a little, until it got to the part where he remembered the one he'd been so close to perfecting was now nothing but charred remains. She'd literally never seen him as depressed, not before or since.

More recently, he'd been tinkering with them in the Sanctuary labs during his brief stay in London. The question was what were _these_ ones for? As a student of biology first and foremost, technology wasn't Magnus' strongest suit, but that didn't stop her delving in from time to time. Perhaps this had something to do with the aeroplanes he'd been working on with Astor. The thought stopped her dead.

How could she have not told him? She scrunched her eyes together and uttered a groan, annoyed at herself. Wondering how on earth it hadn't been at the forefront of her mind until now! John Astor had been on board with her, the richest passenger after Ismay himself, and she'd known, known since she found his wife Madeleine on the Carpathia, that he hadn't made it. Oh she was going to have some serious apologies to make. True, they'd avoided each other for years over the Colorado experiments, but after the whole Worth affair Nikola appeared to have swallowed his ego long enough to reconcile with J.J., and before you knew it they were drawing up plans as though nothing had ever happened.

She remembered bumping into him on deck and having the most delightful conversation. Mostly at Nikola's expense if she recalled – the one experience they had in common. Ever the gentleman, he'd very kindly suggested she come to their fancy dress ball when they got to New York. No doubt it would have been a lovely evening.

What a mess. Her hands trembled a little, and deciding it was the chill she called up the maid to start a fire. She'd tell Tesla when he got back, Helen decided, telling herself that a few more hours wasn't going to make the blindest bit of difference anyway.

It started raining outside, the droplets hitting the glass plane on a windy slant that obscured the buildings on her horizon. Turning on a lamp and bringing it over she took another look at the mystery object still lain out across the cherry wood, and discovered a wine-stained copy of Faraday's 'Experimental Researches in Electricity' sat at its side. Curiously she flipped through the dog-eared pages and settled into a nearby chair, occasionally pausing to prod at the machine and ascertain their theoretical connection. A metallic clicking sound, like something tapping on a pipe, came through the air vent every now and then, distracting her a little. The wind must have been blowing some, she mused, attempting to remain focused and ignoring the irritatingly irregular beats as best she could.

It crossed her mind more than once during her prolonged stares that there had to be a power source somewhere. Convinced by now that the device wasn't active, she put the book to one side in the hope of making faster headway alone and inspected it closer. Tracing the circuit back she could only find a thumb-sized contact pad and then... nothing. She smiled triumphantly, realising with appreciation that he was using it to channel his own electrical energy into the wire coils. It looked like some kind of electrical storage unit, but then, why the breaks?

Eventually her stomach growled in complaint, disrupting her thought patterns enough for her to take a look at the clock and realise it was already half twelve. God, sometimes she swore the pursuit of science created some kind of time vortex around her.

Letting herself get distracted by it was never hard. Especially when there were so many other things she _didn't_ want to do. Indulgence time over, she reprimanded herself; she had money to sort out, telegrams to send, and things to buy. She could ask Tesla about this later. Perhaps over dinner tonight… she paused, smiling smugly at another plan starting to form in her head. Yes indeed, that would be a far more interesting use of time, and not without its own importance.

0 0 0

She was going to invite him to lunch instead. He really did need to know about Astor, procrastination wasn't going to help with that. Then Magnus could pick Tesla's brains about the project sat on his table, if he'd let her. It certainly made for a better plan than letting him stew over whatever the news might provoke: depression, annoyance, self-pity – with Nikola there was never any way to tell how it would go. He might be completely indifferent – who knows? There'd be plenty of time to go about her business in the afternoon hours.

The outfit she'd managed to procure yesterday was black, with just a hint of white on the trim and sash: sombre, yet strangely impenetrable. Last she'd worn black for any length of time was in the months after her mother's funeral, and ever since she had avoided the colour, as though to wear it was to conjure death. Even after her father's disappearance, when everyone else had donned black armbands out of respect for a man they could only presume dead, she'd refused. To mourn him was to admit he was gone forever – and until they found his remains a part of her would always hold the hope that somewhere, somehow, he'd survived.

As he had so often reminded her in their work – there were more things between Heaven and Earth… the world was full of unimagined possibilities.

Yet now the colour was appropriate, _now_ it fit her, and it felt… strangely comforting. Her severe, suddenly more mature silhouette, an outward sign of solidarity with the other remaining souls as much as to mourn those who had been lost. Thinking about it, she really needed to find old Maggie Brown and thank her.

There weren't enough flowers in the world to express her gratitude for their hands reaching out to her, pulling her shivering like a new born lamb on an icy early morn. No doubt Maggie too was recounting her losses, recovering, searching for a way to make sense of it. Spending time with someone who'd been there, seen the things she'd seen, heard that horrendous silence, would no doubt be a relief. For all their _genius_ neither Tesla, nor Watson, nor even Griffin, who had gotten himself into trouble more times than she could count, would ever fully comprehend. She made a decision whilst standing before the mirror, wide-brimmed hat framing her studious brow, to go in search of her at the earliest opportunity.

Ready for the world Helen left the suite, using the draw string from her dinner outfit to store her cash. She walked into the lobby, head held high, determined, a little impatient for familiar company, and Nikola's explanation of her morning's little discovery.

Even so, the sounds of the inquest trickling into the hall slowed her steps and made her strain her ears to hear. She glanced at the lobby clock: just coming up to one.

_No_. _It was not prudent to just pop her head in_. She reminded herself of that numb sensation which had griped her in that room. It was better to walk amongst the living, than dwell among thoughts of the dead.

As she was thinking about it a man hurried out from the corridor, holding onto his head as though he had the worst headache imaginable splitting his skull from ear to ear. Helen eyed him for a moment, noting the unusually desperate way he lurched forward, and the gritted teeth.

"Are you alright sir?" She moved towards him, but he didn't respond, continuing at a pace for the exit. The minute she'd said something everyone had noticed him. A bell boy had enquired; "Sir?" the doorman had hesitated to open the door – forcing the gentleman to push his own way through and onto the street.

Magnus picked up her already hurried pace, certain that he was in danger, throwing herself through the closing door as he ran off the steps and into the road. With horror, before she could even gasp in realisation she watched a carriage run into him. The horses had swerved in opposites to avoid the man, smacking him with the centre bar, pummelling into his head and knocking him under as the wheels screeched to a stop and the horses reared in distress.

Onlookers stopped in their tracks, petrol-fuelled vehicles chocked to a stop their engines giving out with noisy gasps. Helen automatically ran, towards the carnage, towards the bleeding patient; pulling off the pale kid gloves and shoving them into her bag as she navigated the halting traffic. She could feel the wind tugging on her hat and held it down as she reached the hapless chap, sprawled on the damp surface.

What on earth could've possessed him? She felt for a pulse, her other hand reaching for the head trauma, where blood was gushing liberally, to stem the flow. The pulse was faint, but he had one. She leant her ear to his partly open mouth, listening against the commotion for signs of life. Gently letting go of his head for a moment she opened his mouth wide and checked the airway was clear, before pulling off the man's jacket and ripping off the sleeve of his fancy dress shirt. She had thought to use the black mourning band that had been tied to his arm, but it came away in pieces, snagged on a piece of the carriage on impact and rendered entirely useless.

"Hey lady! Whatta ya doin'?"

She ignored the confused accusation, turning the shirt fabric into the best make-shift tourniquet she could, whilst observing the suspiciously soft-looking torso.

"Hey!"

A rough hand landed on her shoulder, and she snapped onto the flat-capped driver with a fierce look in her eyes, "Trying to save this man's life! Now make sure the ambulance is on its way and give me room!"

The ebbing pulse and accompanying temperature drop against her skin turned her attention back to the patient's broken body. She grabbed the jacket, shrouding him in it as best she could to keep him warm – no easy task in the brisk Spring weather. That small glance of his body told the rational part of her that she was fighting a losing battle. Broken ribs, crumpled gut… if he wasn't bleeding internally she was a Hibernian fairy. She grabbed the patient's legs, elevating them in an attempt to improve his circulation, and send that precious blood where it was needed most.

Another man knelt beside her as she looked for something to put beneath the patient's head, older than the last to approach her, but no less firm when he held onto her wrist.

"Your jacket." She beat him to whatever condescending kindness he'd been about to offer.

"Sorry?" he baulked, startled to be addressed in such a manner by such a desperate-looking woman.

"Take your jacket," she nodded to the patient's head, "and put it beneath his head."

"And you really think that will help? There's nothing to be done my dear-"

She flared at that, "Put your jacket under his head _now_. I am a doctor; I know what I am doing."

He didn't look convinced, so she unceremoniously handed him the patient's legs and took the bowler hat from his head instead. Less comfortable, but it would have to do. The ambulance would be here soon, surely? Without a medical kit there wasn't much else she could do.

She thought to open his eye-lids to check for a response, but he was deteriorating, and fast, his body starting to lurch under the force of a fibrillating heart.

"He's gone into shock." She explained out loud, as though she had a team by her side. Her hands quickly drew back the heavier material around his chest, pressing down against the fabric of his shirt in timed compressions, but she could feel the flesh beneath give too easily. "Damn it, stay with me!"

There was running, a doctor clutching his top hat and medical kit being led into their circle by the driver. The pulse stopped dead, the body stilled, and the doctor – to Magnus' surprise – didn't launch into assisting the resuscitation but simply looked on sadly. Not that it would have helped. The injuries were just too many. Biting her bottom lip bitterly she withdrew, pressing her bloody fingers to the man's wrist in a sad gesture of comfort that could no longer register.

"Allow me." The doctor eventually stepped forward, probably expecting Magnus to follow everyone else's lead and step out of the way. She, however, was already tracing back the last few minutes in her head.

He'd come from the direction of the conference rooms, almost stumbled past, peculiar indeed. From the way he'd held his head, perhaps he had an underlying condition – a tumour, an infection, that had disorientated him.

"Are you a nurse ma'm?" the doctor had asked, checking the pulse and realising what was already fact – the man was dead. As if to punctuate the fact the body gave a horrific rasp as the air finally left the body, causing most of the crowd to flinch, and some of the women to hide their eyes in the arms of a man.

She looked into his green eyes, starting to get tired of repeating herself, "Doctor, actually. Doctor Helen Magnus." Without any discussion she started inspecting the body, the neck was clear of anything unusual: bruised, perhaps fractured in the spine.

"Well… er… Miss Magnus."

She glared momentarily.

"Doctor," he smiled briefly, "the gentleman is dead, this is a matter for the cops now."

She hummed thoughtfully, knowing instinctively that something beyond his control had caused this man to lose his life, and not just the tardiness of the ambulance.

"Why the hell did he go and run out in fron' of me, huh?!" the driver panicked, "Was he off his nut?!"

Magnus addressed him directly, making sure the short, round-faced man clutching to his cap was paying attention. "Listen to me," she instructed calmly, "take a deep breath. You're going pale and you need to calm down."

The other doctor finally started to pay attention to the _other_ patient, "Here, sit down." He got him to perch on the carriage steps. "It's not your fault, alright. Just an accident." He soothed, looking for a bottle of brandy on his person before handing it over, "here. Good fer the nerves."

"Oh Lord abide!" vocalised someone in the crowd.

He'd recognised the body. Magnus zeroed in on him, in his forties, greying beard not unlike the late King Edward's. Seeing Helen had spotted him he offered an explanation. "He was at the inquest, not moments ago. I… I just stepped out for a… refreshment when I heard something had…"

Whispers immediately erupted, circulating the supposition that the man now dead on the floor had been a survivor, or lost a loved one to the Titanic. Struck by the tragedy the crowd started making their own conclusions – ones Magnus couldn't wholly share.

"Please, why would he just decide to throw himself into oncoming traffic?" she said, standing up to address the pressing issue of nipping this irrationality in the bud.

"Who _knows_ what notions get into a man after such a disaster?" voiced one of the bystanders.

"Yeah," came the murmured consensus.

Offering a confrontational sigh Magnus' logical assessment of this theory was stopped before it had even begun. The police arrived, the ambulance hot on their heels, and they started separating spectators from witnesses, and moving people along in order to remove the body. She held her tongue, knowing it would only aggravate matters, and more than glad to hear them moving the crowd along with announcements that were purposefully neutral. The rumour mill was working overtime already, but if they were lucky the journalists would be too busy _inside_ the hotel to have noticed. Soon, as the medics worked to remove the body from the scene, the only people left were the shaken cab driver, the doctor, the man who'd spoken out of the crowd and herself.

"They'd had Mr Bride testifying at the inquiry," explained the gentleman from the hotel, "last I saw this man they were getting to the… collision with the ice berg. I suppose he couldn't take it anymore. It must have been horrific-"

"Do you have any reason to suspect he _was_ a survivor, sir?"

Helen watched as the ambulance crew hefted the body up and onto a stretcher, its contours marked beneath the grey sheet.

"Well, I mean, I think he might've been wearing an armband. Y'know: in mourning. So even if he weren't a survivor I reckon he must've lost someone. It does things to the mind, that kind of grief… I wouldn't be _surprised_ if he just wanted to end it all. Listening to that testimony, those people went through a frozen hellhole."

Magnus tried not to look at them and draw attention to the fact she was eavesdropping. She was far from convinced by their analysis, frozen hellhole or not, and that the officer seemed to share these sentiments, actively pursuing suicide as his line of enquiry was worrying. He clearly wasn't thinking about the effect this would have on the family of the deceased, being told he'd tried to end his own life and for what? She was a survivor, she knew. No one who'd been through all that, just for the chance to live, would give it up now. Not like this.

As they started to shut the doors to the ambulance the officer questioning him noticed she was taking a rather inordinate interest in the body and, having finished his scant questioning of the gentleman, began to ask for her statement instead.

"Sorry, to interrupt you, officer," she cut in halfway through, the ambulance trundling away, "but that man was _not_ attempting to commit suicide."

The cop eyed her with surprise, "Is that so miss?"

She gave him her steadiest, most trust-inducing eye, "He was suffering from acute head pains, possibly from an underlying medical condition… perhaps a tumour in the brain. I dare say he was hardly aware of his surroundings, in which case _this_ was an accident."

"And as a nurse you're qualified to diag-"

"Doctor, officer, I am a qualified and practicing doctor."

He gave her a look as if to say, who on earth would let a woman examine their ailments? And Magnus' back straightened, hands clasped and blood boiled.

"I want to speak to your superior please," she insisted.

"Look, I can see y'all real handy with the emergency aid and it was real charitable of ya to run to the gentleman's rescue ma'm, e'en if he really di'n't care for it, but there won't be no need to speak with my superior. We're jus' gonna finish takin' your statement-"

With a heavy sigh Magnus looked expectantly towards his slightly more senior colleague, who had paused midway through permitting the carriage driver to carry on his way.

"Do you _really_ think this man's family will be satisfied when you tell them he just ran out into the traffic? Take me to the station; allow me to speak with the coroner to at least rule out the possibility."

This officer at least considered what she was saying for longer than two seconds. He looked back, thoughtfully, before noticing the growing look of fear on the driver's face as he worried for his future. Gently he patted the drivers shoulder with a nod, and allowed him to carry on, before approaching Helen and speaking with her in a more confidential manner.

"Ma'm I apologise if my colleague has insulted you, but if somethin' was at odds our coroner or detectives will, as you so rightly pointed out, identify it."

"I highly doubt your colleagues will perform a dissection of the brain on my testimony alone, officer, they will likely miss it entirely. If you would only allow me-"

"We're just doin' our jobs ma'm, and we ain't in no place to be lettin' strangers off of the street, medical degree or no, start gettin' involved in our investigations. Please. Just answer Officer Stein's questions and allow us to do our jobs."

* * *

**Post note: **Oh man you guys are awesome! And I'm not just saying that. HUGE thanks to everyone following, faving or lurking here. It's so cool to read your comments, you've all been so supportive.

**Caelta** - I know right? I am also extremely glad the fan-base is still so strong despite the stupid cancellation. =( A testament to the awesome characters I think. he he, I have to admit I'm a bit of a history buff, I love researching it - and can get suckered in for hours trying to figure out whether or not they used morgues, which hats they wore, where 5th Avenue is in relation to the old Waldorf Astoria. sigh. I'm such a nerd.

**minderismeer** - your curiosity will be rewarded in time =D I hope. I have to thank you for this comment, with all the plot threads bumbling around in my head I had almost forgotten to fine tune the details! =o

Also, apologies for any typos or spelling errors, I've been back over a few of the chapters and found a few but I'm not gonna change them until the story's finished (or it never will be!) =D

**24/11/12 Update** - I've changed Molly to Maggie - because I discovered that the "Unsinkable" Molly Brown actually never called herself Molly, or introduced herself to friends as such - but she was known as Maggie to friends. She became Molly after all the press on the Titanic. So there you go. Maggie is Molly, I can only presume Magnus used Molly when speaking to Will because he'd recognise her name better that way.


	5. Chapter 5 - Full Steam Ahead

Tesla watched intently from the steps of the Waldorf-Astoria, a half-smile never quite leaving his face as Magnus started to reluctantly withdraw from the field – so to speak. Eyes schooled to the mid-space, the brim of her hat tipped down in deep thought, it was clear from her step, the way her bloodied hands clenched, that she was positively seething beneath that calm, polite exterior.

He'd happened to turn up in time to witness a veritable tableau of New York commotion. The traffic was complaining, loudly, at the holdup, the choking engines of new automobiles forcing their drivers to step out and start them up again, horses whinnying impatiently in what was fast becoming a jam. At the front of it all stood a carriage with severely distressed horses, its driver dismounted somewhere amongst the crowd that was currently being dispersed by uniformed policemen. It wasn't a scene he'd have given more than a glance, had his eye not caught a certain Helen Magnus standing, rather ruffled, amongst it all. The ambulance pulling up had seemed in a hurry, but from the look of the medics as they approached the unfortunate patient, she'd lost him before they'd arrived.

The scene had slowed him to a halt, half-way up the stairs, as he observed the effects of Magnus' discussion with the local law enforcement. Whoever had been hit, she had clearly been trying to save their life, though why she was now arguing with the police… _there_ was the mystery.

When she had given up, and finally reached the steps he stood on, she barely stopped herself from automatically hitching up her skirt and getting it bloody. She made a rather unladylike sound and looked up in exasperation, starting at the sight of Nikola there just above.

"Making trouble with the law?" he handed her the kerchief from his top pocket, looking far too amused for his own good.

"That's one way of putting it." She redressed primly, accepting his gentlemanly offer and carefully navigating the steps as she wiped down her hands. Glancing back briefly at the site of the carnage, she turned to him, insisting, "I don't know what was going on there, but that man did _not_ just run out into the traffic and end his life without a bloody good reason."

He raised an eyebrow at that, watching her intently and awaiting further explanation. She had already resolved herself to this cause, he could tell, which meant she was hatching plans. Always such a fetching look on her, Tesla mused, tracing the darkening hue of her eyes as fervent thoughts connected behind them. Then she remembered her surroundings and the magic all but evaporated.

"What are you doing back anyway? I thought you would be in the thick of scientific discovery."

He smiled cheekily, one hand sweeping his coat aside to rest on his hip, "Oh well, you know, I was coming back for lunch anyway, and what should I find but the Waldorf-Astoria's new resident doctor creating a little bother for the locals."

She rolled her eyes, hardly believing him for a second.

"What do you think happened?" he asked.

As he looked back across the street she realised something was different about his appearance. "Have you…" why ask? She reprimanded herself, it was obvious he'd shaved off his moustache, and besides, knowing that she'd noticed was going to usher some form of insufferable comment she just wasn't in the mood for. "Never mind," she sighed, focusing back on the site of her most recent battle with death, though worryingly Nikola seemed to have noticed she'd been momentarily distracted, "the gentleman who just lost his life, I saw him dashing out of the hotel as I was leaving. He ran straight into the oncoming traffic, not even a glance."

Tesla narrowed his eyes at her, knowing from her tone alone that there was more to it than that, "He was being pursued?"

"No," she replied, lips pursed thoughtfully and shaking her head a little, "I don't think so. He looked to be suffering from severe head pains… if he was experiencing an acute attack of some kind, something affecting his brain, as I suspect…"

"He wouldn't know what he was doing."

"Precisely. It might've been enough to make him completely unaware of his surroundings. He _literally_ wouldn't have been in the right frame of mind, and not just because of some overwhelming sense of _grief_ or misguided attempt to end his own life." She was getting irritated again, clearly the police had been happy to chalk this up to just another whacko gone loose, or they would've if said whacko hadn't emerged from one of Manhattan's premier hotels. Suicide, it appeared, had thus become their preferred verdict.

"So… yet another resounding triumph for the NYPD," Tesla intoned sarcastically, watching her carefully, "Worth a night in a cell for upsetting the local constabulary?"

"Yes," She eyed him determinedly, surprising him slightly, "it is when no one's even going to look into it properly."

She knew police procedure, in London at least, she couldn't imagine it was much different in God-fearing America. Coroners always aimed to give the bodies back as whole as possible, and far too many of them considered the condition of the corpse going into the ground over the veracity of their demise. Day in, day out, the cause of death was misinterpreted from an insufficient set of results derived from the least invasive, and cheapest, methods. No one was going to open a skull up in a hurry, not without a good solid suspicion that it provided their probable cause.

Tesla held his hands up in mock surrender, knowing precisely what she was going to say next. After all, she was physically incapable of forgetting her work, everywhere she went, everything she did.

"There's no telling what might've been affecting him." She continued a little more quietly, "It could have been a pathogen, or even an abnormal. Whatever it was seems to have come on a little too suddenly for my liking."

"Well… the police aren't going to take a _liking_ to the idea of a foreigner poking around." He whispered as another couple passed them on the stairs, grey eyes searching her body language for answers, "This isn't London Helen; you can't just turn up with Watson in tow, or call up the Prime Minister, and get a free pass."

Her brows rose a little defiantly at the prospect of the challenge, her chin jutting just a little higher, to coincide with the small promise of mischief in the eyes. She was going to do it anyway, and Tesla smirked knowingly at the unmistakable signs.

"Helen," he drew out her name with an admiring flourish and the beginnings of a toothy smile, "what are you plotting?"

She turned away, supressing a smirk at that eager boyish grin of his, and pretending to be highly interested in her dirtied hands. As she moved towards the doors he followed her, still expecting an answer that she didn't really want to vocalise, especially in the hotel lobby. Her reluctance to spill the beans made him all the more curious. They only got as far as the end of reception before he lightly grabbed her upper-arm, pressing her to address him and share the details of that delectable decision she'd made to be brilliant, regardless of how much trouble she'd cause.

"First, I need to clean myself up," was as much as she would say, barely stopping as she headed for the elevators.

"Yes," he conceded as though that much was obvious, "but then?"

Their transportation tinged as it arrived on the lower floor, and that crafty smile on Helen's face was startlingly attractive, Nikola decided.

"I am going to take a look at that body."

* * *

**Post note**: Sorry for such a short chapter but the next one's just too big! =D

Don't worry I promise I'll update the next one very soon, though gaps between updates may start to get a bit longer as real life's catching up with me and the story's now in full flow. ;)

**Sparky-She-Demon**: I'm sure Molly will appear at some point, she's certainly quite the Titanic personality.

Also big thank you to those 10 crazy people following this story! And the four kind people who faved The Iron Sea – you too rock.

Next time… some mischief will be made, and I will be relying on you, dear fanfic readers, to keep me towing the line of character (and plot) believability. I don't have a beta reader, so if you pick up on something incongruous, please people, let me know! Just be nice. =)


	6. Chapter 6 - Flotsam and Jetsam

Calling on her London contacts wasn't going to be of any use that much was true. By the time they could've put in a good word for her, the body might already be six feet under and the evidence obliterated. Time was of the essence. A little discussion over lunch and a few well-placed phone calls had identified that the body had been taken to Bellevue Hospital Morgue, precisely a mile away to the south. So they had decided to wait until evening, when hospital staff began to take their dinner, and lowered their guard.

Slipping past reception as though they belonged there, Magnus and Tesla soon found their way into the mortuary building. The state of the art facilities had been joined onto the hospital by an indoor corridor, an innovation which Magnus was surprised, but immensely pleased to see adopted somewhere other than the Sanctuary. God knew how many morgues Watson had dragged them to where she'd been forced through the slurry of a soaking wet courtyard to reach the hapless victim!

The corridors in this part of the hospital were hushed, the slight buzz of new electric lighting the only sound to accompany their passage. Neither of them trusted it, both glancing about warily as they reached the door, almost expecting something invisible to show itself and catch them in the act. Reminding herself that Tesla was more than capable of playing look out with his enhanced hearing Helen broke out a hair pin, just like Watson had showed her years ago, and worked on the basic wafer lock until the mechanism clicked. Tesla had already reached for the handle, pushing it open as she stood up, and allowing her through first in total silence.

Immediately she began to check the paper tags tied to the feet of the three bodies in the dimming light, setting down the surgical bag they'd purchased that afternoon so she could cover the room more swiftly. Tesla, meanwhile, hung back by the frosted glass of the windowed door, listening out for intruders whilst watching Magnus methodically sweep the room for her target. She had been conspicuously hushed on the details of her mission, and he got the distinct impression she was improvising everything she hadn't actually mentioned in the hotel: a fact which only served to put him more on edge.

Finding the tag which spelled out '_John Doe, April 20__th__, 2pm, No. 256'_, Magnus swiftly removed an apron from the wall and rolled up her sleeves. There were folders stacked on the counter, and whilst trying up the protective fabric she leaned towards them, searching for the one matching the number assigned to her former patient. She was glad to see the report, ink still drying, lain out on top. Her luck appeared to be holding.

Bringing it closer to the door, and the second hand light, to read the contents, she noticed Tesla was surreptitiously scrutinising her. She pretended to ignore it, but positioned barely three feet away from him it was clear he wasn't going to let that happen.

"So when somebody decides to check in on Mr Doe here and finds you elbow deep in carcass, were you just going to smile and look innocent, or was there a plan?" he snarked, causing her to lift her gaze from the page, for a second that she didn't want to spare, in order to reprimand him with nothing but a look. "Just so I know."

"That's what _you're_ here for," she whispered winningly, most of her attention still fixed on the report, and one part in particular which intrigued her. Frowning at the unexpected assertion scrawled on the page, whatever else she'd been about to say died in the air. She set the paperwork beside her bag, washing her hands and approaching the corpse.

"What is it?" Tesla asked at her obvious sense of direction, his nit-picking suddenly overridden by a fierce curiosity.

The chill air made itself known, raising the skin of her forearms to Goosebumps, as she peeled back the pale covering. For a second she thought she could see ice encrusted on his face, embedded in the eyebrows and pale blue lips, like the bodies that had been floating on the lapping Atlantic waters. Her stomach fell like a stone at the memory, the same feeling you get when you fall in a dream, until it brought her back to reality with a jolt.

Helen recovered herself enough to find the location of the injury and respond in record time; barely raising Tesla's suspicions, "The surgeon identified a bite mark on the body…" she gently turned the lower leg so that she could see it better. Even so, it was too dark. "Can you turn the light on?"

"Are you sure?"

She knew what he meant. With the lights on it wouldn't be long before someone noticed they were there, "Unless you'd care to power a light bulb for me?" She smiled sweetly.

With a half-sigh, he eyed her – a look which indicated he could see right through those womanly charms but would do it anyway, if only because he couldn't resist showing off – and reached up to one of the bulbs protruding from the light fixtures. Unscrewing it with the finesse of a magician with an audience, Nikola made sure to stand where he would obscure as much of the light as possible from the window. Only then did he fill the bulb with current, its steady glow illuminating the four puncture wounds marking the cadaverous leg. The brief smile of thanks on her lips felt like something of a reward, though he failed to catch her looking his way, or uttering the praise he loved to hear from her lips.

Now she could see more clearly Helen brought a surgical tool to gently pry at the entry wounds, "Hmm, it's not unlike a cat bite… though it would be an incredibly small one."

"They call them kittens."

She stared at him with that flat, unimpressed look he so often received for his witticisms. "Thank you Nikola."

He smiled insufferably at her, and she sighed, bringing her attention back and deciding to root through her bag.

"If a kitten could bite with this strength we'd see a lot more children in the emergency rooms." She retrieved a swab and started trying to take samples from one of the holes, "It's a bit too large for a bat, though."

Wry disbelief accompanied Nikola's hesitant smile, "If New York was swarming in bats I wouldn't have been able to stomach the cliché."

She gave an amused hum at that, as she eyed the sticky substance emerging from the bite. She nearly said something about letting him off the hook; seen as though she knew well enough what his messy bites looked like, but checked herself. It wasn't a topic Nikola particularly cared for, and would inevitably cause some kind of argument – salt in the wound and all that. Last thing she needed was a moody vampire on her hands.

"Well... this bite, curious though it may be, could well be incidental." She sounded more like she was reminding herself of this fact. Clearly her interest had been piqued, her mind already searching through all the creatures she could think of on God's green earth that might've caused a wound like this. After bottling up the samples she took another look, "It's already started to heal, so it was probably made within the last twenty-four hours before death… which could prove important. And it didn't puncture any major vessels, though it probably looked bad immediately after – you can see the skin had started to swell around it. Strikes me as a defensive attack, rather than offensive, meant to ward him off…" she took in its position, "it's in entirely the wrong place..."

"To feed," Tesla contributed quietly, sombrely, which drew Helen's worried gaze almost instantly. He shrugged the introspection off quickly, though his former brevity had quite evaporated. The knowledge of how an animal might go about a quick and speedy kill – though useful – still sat uneasily with him, conjuring, as it did, memories of being completely out of control. Quarter of a century already – you'd have thought it would get a little easier, but abject failure and humility were two sensations Nikola entirely abhorred.

Helen threw him a sympathetic look across the body, one he purposefully avoided, when suddenly the light in his hands went out.

"Shh," he insisted before she'd even said anything.

Holding her breath she could hear the echo of heels clicking across tiles and stone, growing closer and closer. She began to untie the apron, just in case they should barge in, as their shadow passed the window. Her heart sped up anxiously, her eyes growing more and more accustomed to the darkness, glancing between the threat and Tesla, to confirm that the danger was past. Gradually, seconds after the steps had disappeared from her ears Nikola nodded, and rekindled the illuminations in his hand.

Talking was probably a bad idea Magnus decided, in the wake of such a close call they couldn't be too careful. So she didn't voice her concerns that this seemingly negligible bite could indeed provide the source of their probable cause. If it had been a method of transmission for a pathogen, like rabies, they could well find themselves at patient zero of a new epidemic. She tried to rein her imagination in before it got away with her. What she needed were _facts_. Not possibilities.

She brought the report into the cone of light, reading in greater detail now she knew what she was looking for. The effects on the internal organs of any contaminant from the bite appeared to be minimal, there was absolutely nothing unusual or sinister in the assessment of the lungs, heart, gut, liver, kidneys… The tests were yet to return on the alcohol, however, and substances or stimulants in the blood. Damn. She'd have to take her own for analysis. Another visit to the hospital might not go as smoothly, and after earlier she doubted the coroner or surgeon would be greatly cooperative.

What blood was left in the body had already begun to settle at the bottom of the corpse, like sediment in a river, and as she pierced the cold flesh with the needle she couldn't help glancing pensively towards the head. She _really_ needed to crack open that skull.

"Oh no, you're not..."

She turned towards his hushed voice with the absent look of someone being dragged out of their own little world. Then her eyes focused, "We need to make sure there's no tumour or growth, before we can be certain that the bite has any relevancy. I need to see _in there_."

"Right, so, an _X-Ray_?"

She looked doubtful at the prospect of transporting the body, but before either of them could debate the obviousness of the alternative, the sound of approaching steps emanated rather loudly, from a disturbingly close distance. Flashing a wide-eyed glance at each other the bulb shut off, and Magnus instantly scrambled to remove the apron, letting it slip carelessly towards the floor, as a lab-coated doctor entered the door.

Flicking on the light to reveal two rather circumspect individuals in the morgue, the confusion and anger in the doctor's face was waylaid by the extraordinary sight of the woman, already practically touching the body, breaking into tears. So unexpected was this, that he entirely missed the wide-eyed shock of her companion at the unexpected sound. Tesla span instantly from the intruder, concern etched on his face for the barest second before realising her ploy. He could barely contain his amusement once he had; his wry eyebrows rising coolly at her teary-eyed antics, and accompanying his usual slanted grin. One might've never realised the sudden horror he'd felt at the sound of her sobs echoing against the white ceramics.

"What are you doing in here?" The doctor finally asked, though the accusation in it was overcome with concern for Magnus' now shuddering form.

She looked him in the eye, sad eyes welling with tears, lips trembling as her steady right hand gripped around the needle still stuck in the corpse, and carefully withdrew it.

"I do apologise doctor," Nikola covered quickly, with the thickest Serbian accent Magnus had heard in a decade. He drew scant appraisal from the doctor, who had yet to notice one of the lighting fixtures in the hands behind his back, fixated as the younger man was on the hesitant downcast of Helen's eyes. "I appreciate this is highly irregular," he continued, "but…"

"I saw him die." She rasped, loud enough that the doctor would hear every word but quiet enough that he might think she'd said it to herself. It wasn't hard to bring devastation into her performance. Magnus found her more recent memories bubbling up at her own words; the shot fired into the head of the steward, the man slipping down the deck of the tilting ship towards his death, the bodies of children she had been unable to save floating in the arms of their frozen mothers.

Tesla didn't turn to her this time, but his eyes slipped to his side at the sound in her voice, noticing the creeping edge of something that wasn't fake protruding from an otherwise marvellously constructed façade. It was a point to pursue later, he filed it away, fixing on the more present problem and awaiting the effects of her emotional outburst.

"You shouldn't be in here, not without the surgeon, or coroner."

"Yes, yes, but neither of whom are here." He waved off the assessment with his usual dismissiveness, rounding the table to collect Magnus' bag as though it were his own, "And as I am soon taking up a post in your fine college, I thought it might be within my power to assist a friend in great need... I am truly sorry if I have caused any inconvenience."

Magnus could see the cogs whirring in the young doctor's mind: who is he? Which post? Clutching the needle, wrapped up in the handkerchief in her hands, she retracted from the body and moved closer to the poor man, with the most demure feminine look of despair she could muster. "I, I am so sorry doctor, I pressed upon him until he could only relent, such was my distress. He died so violently, right before my eyes I, I had rather thought he might come back and haunt me in my dreams should I fail to… pay my respects, show him some kindness… I couldn't abandon him to the grave without…"

It was working; Tesla noted as he approached her from behind and laid a reassuring hand against her shoulder. The doctor eyed her with a startled kind of sympathy, but didn't seem to question the shock or desperation she was expressing. Not that she really gave him time to consider how particularly gothic her considerations were. Honestly, it sounded like something Bram Stoker cooked up after too many pints of Guinness.

"Now, now, breathe," Nikola quickly patronised, giving the doctor a meaningful look but no time to think, "as you have verified with your own two eyes madam the poor gentleman has passed completely from this world. There is no need to work yourself into a hysteria."

She turned toward him as though seeking the protective shelter of a trained professional, the hand loose by her side finding the entry at the top of the bag he carried, "Indeed," she gasped, her stare going beyond him even as she looked his way, the needle in her hand dropping quietly inside the bag, "thank you doctor." Both her hands reached out to the startled intruder, her eyes earnestly bearing into him, "And you… doctor." She smiled charmingly at the oddness of addressing both of them by their profession; as though she wasn't thinking about how likely it was that the blood sample would break in such unsuitable transport conditions.

"Come now," Tesla interrupted whatever the man had been about to say, directing Magnus towards the door, "again, my apologies to you and your colleagues doctor…"

"Fleisch-"

"Fleisch, yes, it's very kind of you to forgive our intrusion."

"Well han-"

"I'm sure there's no need to mention this, is there? I would hate for the lady to be drawn into the mire of a scandal when her intentions were so pure."

He let him consider it, even as Helen obediently passed out of the door as she'd been directed, into the relative safety of the corridor.

The Doctor sighed, scrunching up his brow as though he'd be mulling over this odd incident for days before realising he should've been more assertive. "I don't suppose that would do any of us any good." He agreed.

Tesla grinned winningly, like a shark toying with its prey. "That's my boy," came out of his mouth before common sense could dissuade him from something so incongruent to his cover. Closing the door sharply before the doctor had time to process it, he led Helen away at a pace, leaving the man, stood dumbly in the centre of the morgue, still struggling to make sense of what had just happened.

* * *

**Post note:**

See! I told you this was a long one. But I hope it keeps you entertained. =) Like I said last time, you read anything which makes you think – argh no! That's not Magnus/Tesla! Lemme know. And yes… Tesla's experiments with X-Rays will certainly be mentioned very soon. ;)

**Jan**: Yes, I know what you mean with the whole eating thing. I've seen vampire shows where they crave blood but still eat food, and as Tesla can drink wine (and the Sleeper-vamps could drink cocktails) I thought well hell he must have _some_ way of digesting that fluid… so why not? Whether he can taste it properly or derive any satisfaction from said food is another thing entirely, but apart from the blood lust and occasional vamp-out Sanctuary vampires seem to meld in very well with humans. Without the ability to glamour people I dare say not being able to eat food would get you noticed… but as you said the show neither confirmed, nor denied, so I am at liberty to play. =D The whole eating at 8 thing was more a reference to real-life Tesla and his habits. But thanks you for the review! =) It's great to hear people taking an interest. (I'll try not to mention eating again.) =)


	7. Chapter 7 - Beneath the Surface

They hurried round the corner into the main complex before attempting to walk slower and look less conspicuous. Even so they had a harried look about them, keeping alert for the slightest sign that Dr Fleisch had decided to do the right thing and notify the police. It was a couple more corners in the medical labyrinth before Magnus felt safe enough to speak her mind.

"We need to find the x-ray department," she paused at the sign they were passing, reading the list of locations that the arrows were pointing to. It was two floors up.

"Tonight? After Dr Softie there just caught us red-handed?" Tesla took the opportunity to dispose of the light bulb he was still clutching, in the soil of a decorative plant pot.

She looked at him, very certain of what needed to be done, "If we don't do it tonight we might never get another chance." Taking her medical bag back from his grasp she glanced around the corner and opened it up, leaning against the wall whilst retrieving the syringe from its contents. Thankfully their victim's blood hadn't escaped, and she emptied it into a vial for safe keeping, replacing it quickly before someone approached them. Taking a deep, recovering breath she recomposed herself, feeling the puffiness of her eyes with cool fingertips before remembering she hadn't washed her hands yet and snapping them back down.

Tesla, it seemed, was still unconvinced by the plan, staring at her with the narrowed eyes, and hand on hip of someone who was about to point out this might benefit from thinking it through. Her response, automatic and unapologetic, was the '_we've come too far – we have to stick this out, even if we don't like it_' look. It was an expression she'd been wearing with increasing frequency since that fateful night on which the five of them had started down this course: the fearless glint of her mettle shining through even the roughest of occasions. Only this time, and for such a seemingly unimportant matter, it burned with a ferocity he'd rarely seen. One could clearly see the hard-edge which Druitt and Worth between them had successfully polished in her attitude to life and death; the certainty and grudging acceptance that not everything could be fixed, and some things simply _needed_ to be cut down. He wondered, for the first time all evening, whether she really was coping with the sinking. Or whether this was displacement on an absurd scale, and they were in fact chasing wild geese – all because she refused to look that calamitous night in the face.

Then she smiled, as if amused by an ironic inward observation, and tilted her head back against the wall in a way that was very distracting. "Come on Tesla," she challenged playfully, making a quick glance in the direction of an unexpected noise, "if I didn't know any better I'd say you were afraid."

The quirk of her eyebrow was damn near flirtatious, _and_ he was falling for it. He sighed dramatically, agitatedly swivelling on the spot as he thought about it. Yes, getting one over on people was entertaining, but something was starting to bother him about all of this. She was being inordinately impulsive, unusually quick to circumvent authority, as well as question it. Not that Tesla was complaining, but what did it matter whether John Doe was bitten by an over-zealous kitten, or died because of the worst headache known to man? The point was it didn't – to him – but it mattered to her. Why, he wasn't sure, but he was developing a niggling suspicion that it had everything to do with the Titanic.

Helen started to move away, "We _need_-"

"Fine!" he cut in flatly, drawing her attention sharply back to him as he approached. A conspiratorial gleam settling into his eye with the beginnings of a smile, "But when I get to say I told you so, you're not allowed to get mad at me."

0 0 0

The third floor was quiet, all the testing facilities closed for the night, and the blinds drawn. One particularly thick and windowless door had the words they were looking for emblazoned across it: Radiography. Magnus looked questioningly to Tesla, and he shook his head to the negative: there was no one inside, no one living at least. A look of relief passed over her as she opened the door and checked inside. Sure enough the X-Ray lab sat unlit and dark, empty of all but the machine looming inside.

Closing the door Tesla switched on the light and started to inspect the machine, "Great, now we only have to get a corpse up two flights of stairs unnoticed."

She hardened a little at the unhelpful comment, "Why was it you never managed to make me an x-ray machine again? Oh, yes, _of course_," she smiled wryly, "you got _distracted_."

That put his back up, he paused, staring at her and raising a finger in her direction, "Hey, Colorado was not just a distraction – it was ground-breaking – and, need I remind you, I lost most of that research in the fire." He turned back to his assessment of the operational controls, "Besides, the amount of radiation my experiments were producing you wouldn't have wanted it to hang around and take a picture." He stole a grin at Magnus, remembering the destruction it had caused last time he'd been tinkering with his designs.

She merely shook her head, "It might've come in useful if you _had_… but I guess _Edison's_ X-Ray will have to do."

He almost growled at the name, unable to go near the damn contraption now she'd reminded him who had been responsible for it. Magnus was taking far too much pleasure in testing him. "What, were you planning on stealing the body?" he quipped reflexively, his distaste evident in his expression; "In case you hadn't realised the world's still a few years off of portable x-ray equipment so it would've hardly changed anything." Reflexively he began to wipe his hands on his fresh kerchief, as if he'd touched something vile on the machine's innocuous dials, "You know, you find me a transformer weighing less than _500 pounds_ and then, maybe, I could make something work. Besides..." he continued unrelentingly, "if Edison had even bothered to actually _read_ my research, he might've noticed my observations on the effects of radiation, and saved that assistant of his a hand."

She eyed him critically for his lack of sympathy, "I believe Mr Dally lost more than a hand Nikola."

"Yeah, because Mr Trial-and-Error is a moron."

Magnus shook her head in amused disbelief at the acidity of Tesla's expression, railing against his much despised 'arch-nemesis'. "Are you quite finished?"

He shifted in response, as though rolling out a crick in his neck. "So…" he sighed.

"We'll have to get him up the elevator." She started looking for something, though what, Tesla wasn't sure yet, "Which means," she found a lab coat, "we're going to need to look the part."

He grinned instantly, catching the lab coat she threw at him.

"Well," he hummed excitedly, "I'm sure we can appropriate a nurse's outfit from _somewhere_."

She automatically rolled her eyes, despite the heat creeping into her cheeks at the unexpectedly lewd insinuation and anticipation in his voice. Not that Tesla had ever given propriety much thought, but still… it sounded a little too much like his own personal fantasy for Magnus to continue looking at him straight.

0 0 0

By ten o'clock at night the only animated part of the hospital was the Emergency Room and the Maternity Ward on the other side of the complex. Everywhere else had succumbed to the sleepy hush that had settled on the Radiography floor, with the occasional Nurse or Matron keeping an eye out and making sure the patients were settled for the night. Magnus and Tesla wheeled the body round the corner with their hearts in their mouths, hoping no one would look closer and realise their patient was a particular shade of pale, and entirely breath-less.

One nurse had already passed them with a risen eyebrow, but she'd had her nose too deep in a medical file to twig, before the body was whisked away from her examination. Tesla couldn't help but grin at the thought of the jealousy in Griffin's expression when he got to recount this one! He would have loved it. Thieving in the dark, the thrill of almost getting caught in the act, it was right up his alley. He might've been slightly less impressed with the dead cargo, but Helen Magnus in a nurse's outfit was certainly quite the sight.

Conceding that it would simply encourage less scrutiny to pose as the auxiliary, and not the one in charge, Helen had indeed relented to the disguise. Though it had been pilfered from the clean laundry supply and not, as Nikola had dared to tease, from seducing the well curved blonde that had passed them in the corridor.

That comment had made her purse her lips thoughtfully and scrutinise the vampire, unsure of what exactly had gotten into him. Something was wrong, something he was trying to hide and at the same time, knew she would notice. She had just been too preoccupied before to see it. Later, she decided, she'd have to figure it out later. For now they swiftly, silently, set about their task; bringing the body to the patient elevator and closing the doors behind them.

She looked at the controls, quite glad that by chance they had ended up positioned closer to Tesla than herself. The levers offered no explanation as to how they were operated, and she really didn't fancy a crash course. In New York it seemed every building had a lift.

"I take it you know how to-"

"Of course." He cut in, getting the elevator to a shaky start; which indicated that perhaps he hadn't ever actually applied his theoretical knowledge until today.

Helen reflexively gripped the side, watching warily as the box car glided up the elevator shaft, the creaks and grinds of the metal intensely audible in the quiet. Tesla happened to catch the look on her face and grinned at her evident discomfort, nearly missing his cue to slow the lift to a halt. The break creaked as he levelled it to the correct stop, and the floor beneath them shuddered with the abrupt instruction.

Looking at each other with relief, the arguments about paying attention soon played out on their features, from admonishment to excuse, without a word needing to be said. Helen shifted to open the door behind her, trying to keep the clunk of the metal gates to a minimum and they continued wheeling the victim to their destination.

Somewhere down the darkened corridor Magnus imagined Watson's response to all this. He probably wouldn't have approved. She'd have persuaded him, of course, and James wouldn't have baulked at the danger, but his sceptical, yet exhilarated stares would've been somewhat admonishing her all night. She'd have to write a letter to him tomorrow. She had, after all, promised to do so before even leaving Southampton and well, if her suspicions were right, it would be good to keep the Sanctuary informed.

Swinging open the door to the X-Ray lab, they soon had the body up on the horizontal platform and ready to take some images. Magnus placed the coated glass plate in the frame, aiming it above the head, before taking cover behind the screen near the controls. She left Tesla to position the x-ray tube beneath so they weren't blinded, and adjust the dials for the correct exposure. Taking the capture button in hand, he started the generator.

It made a whirring sound from the high voltage crackling through its system, though the rays themselves were silent. They didn't have to worry about keeping down the levels of radiation, the patient was dead after all, so they could shorten the time down considerably and still get a sharp image. With the first exposure settled, Nikola shut the machine down. They moved in concert to extract the plate, and turn the body to its next position, when suddenly the door opened and both of them paused, like a frozen-frame, staring at the nurse who'd appeared as if from nowhere.

"I heard the machine going from the outside," she explained in the distinctly nasal tones of a Queens' accent, Tesla's least favourite, he was already staring daggers at her, "what are you up to?" she shuffled inside the door a little more, "Is that guy… _dead_?"

"Haven't you got patients to see to?" was Nikola's prickly, dismissive response.

Quickly deciding it was better not to get involved Magnus hastily finished what they were doing.

"Well, shouldn't the department be closed for the night?" the nurse posited blithely.

He tilted his head down a little and glared, "It's research. Now," he started shooing her with his hand, "Go."

Her expression soured and she snorted, "Yeah sure, whatever, just don't expect me to lie when Dr Jennings realises you were using his equipment without permission."

Tesla looked to Magnus the minute the door closed. She raised an eyebrow. Not that she was complaining, but shouldn't the woman have been a mite more concerned, or intimidated at least? She kinda liked her a little just for having brushed off Nikola with such ease.

"_Worst_ accent in New York," he sneered.

Magnus made an amused huff, "Guess _I'll_ develop this then," she started towards the Dark Room door to the left, flashing a look of soft concern, "Be quick."

He rolled his eyes, really, he didn't need reminding.

With three successful images captured of the dead body's skull they left the images to settle and got the body back before it started to rot in the warmer climes. It was only then, with the dead flesh back in its resting place and the morgue door locked again, that the adrenaline kick started to dissipate. Both breathing a little easier they headed back upstairs a little more talkative than before, to analyse their results.

With the glass against the light box they both fell silent, their eyes roving over the patterns of bone and tissue that made the shape of his head. Searching for the slightest smear or blur that might hint at what had been happening to his brain in his final, desperate moments, and finding any obvious signs of a solid growth surprisingly lacking.

"Well there goes the cancer theory," he remarked.

Magnus stared at the images even more intently, barely listening to him, "Yes, but there…" she pointed, squinting with her head tilted ever so slightly, at the top two thirds from the back of his head.

"Brain damage?"

"Maybe…"

The colouration in that part of the skull was different, ever so slightly darker in blurry lines that tipped away from the edges, as though it was less dense, as if, perhaps, the brain had thinned or shrunk and let the rays penetrate with greater ease. She wished she'd gone with her gut instinct and opened him up, she could've seen, instantly, what was going on. Whether there was discolouration, or striations in the tissue. She could've taken samples for God's sake, now all she was left with was a tantalising glance at something that wasn't quite right.

"It bears similarity to the colouration around the head wound he sustained… could be localised hydrocephalus."

"Enough to affect behaviour?"

She hummed thoughtfully, wishing she'd revised radiography analysis in the last year. Honestly, she really needed to start taking refreshment courses on a biannual basis so she didn't fall behind with the times. Perhaps she'd spent a little too long resting on her laurels since they'd gotten government approval for the Sanctuary, her attentions had certainly been turned since she'd been granted the resources to properly study abnormal physiology.

"Any pressure on the brain is going to hurt eventually... or deterioration, if that's what we're looking at." She reasoned, "And the pain alone could've affected his perception, compromised decision making. The question is… how did his brain end up damaged _there_ when the physical trauma was located in a completely different area of the head. There's no identifiable foreign object lodged inside, and no growth..."

"A neurotoxin."

She looked him in the eye with a half-smile, "Precisely."

His eyes flitted to the bag at her side, "Well that bite's starting to look more interesting."

"You see?" she gestured at the plates, "They won't have even begun to link the two."

He smiled at her, resting casually against the light-box, "Next time it will be something entirely mundane and you're going to be sooo, so disappointed."

She pulled a wry face, "Let's call it my sixth sense shall we?"

"Please," he scoffed, "leave the séances to Houdini."

* * *

**Author's Note**: yeah, so I realised after writing this that Edison's work was on fluoroscopy which is the observation of moving real-time x-rays and not static x-rays. Oops. Oh well, maybe in this universe he worked on both =P Any excuse to bring him up! I couldn't actually find out online how they would've developed the x-ray image (gah!) so I guesstimated. =)

Also, apologies to anyone from Queens please don't take Tesla's remarks personally; he is, after all, a frequently irritating SOB.

I may re-write the previous chapter at some point to improve the flow of it, but again, this may have to wait until I've finished the story or it just won't get written! Thanks again to everyone who's offered words of encouragement, faved or followed. I had fun writing this chapter, so I hope you had fun reading it!


	8. Chapter 8 - Going Under

Magnus was attempting to supress a yawn, much to Tesla's amusement. It reminded him of those nights spent revising exams last minute in the Bodleian library and occasionally their rooms. He could have cursed his younger self for allowing her that intimacy without the threat of emotional strings attached, but he just hadn't been able to resist it. Her presence was simply too illuminating, too brilliant to deny and he had always considered it better to live with just a little of her attention, than to remain bereft of it all his life. Besides which that younger, less experienced and mortal version of himself, had been too focused on his work, too controlled, and even _more_ suspicious of the barbs of human contact to realise what he was feeling for her. It had taken him four years to work it out, and by then things had gotten _complicated_.

"What time is it?" she asked as they removed their coats in the safety of the hotel suite.

Tesla checked his pocket watch: the only piece of jewellery he could countenance being on his person, and even then, only because he argued it wasn't jewellery at all but a tool. One specifically designed for keeping time. He had to admit he was a little surprised at the hour, "Nearly midnight."

She humfed thoughtfully, "I fear our excursion has tired me out. I can't remember the last time I was this fatigued after nine hours sleep!"

He was looking at her with an unreadable expression, almost as though he wanted to point something out but had decided to err on the side of caution and keep his mysterious thoughts to himself.

"I think I shall retire to bed."

"To _my_ bed you mean," he smiled cheekily.

She paused before she reached the door, eying him with a guarded but slightly curious smile, "Yes." She drew out the word, casting a side-glance as she tried to figure him out, "The bed you have so kindly leant me use of."

He surprised her, moving closer in a way that threatened to make good on some kind of unspoken promise and yet never made contact. It sent an unconscious, unbidden spark through her gut, her heart picking up without any logical reason. She watched him like a hawk.

"I'm starting to miss it," he mused aloud.

Helen nearly chocked in surprise. He knew what he was saying, the quirked eyebrow was as laden as the statement was supposedly innocuous, and yet he remained at arm's length, his demeanour as unthreatening as he could've made it. _What was he playing at?_

As she attempted to puzzle it out, her eyes narrowing, Nikola decided to relieve her from the more startling conclusions she might have conjured. "Well, the sofa's not exactly soft on the back."

"And what, exactly, would you propose?" she dared to call his bluff, steeling herself for any number of come-backs she had just set up.

His expression quirked with excitement at the audacity of her response, whatever had first sprung to mind quickly suppressed as his electric eyes started drifting to her lips. Something she'd never noticed him doing before.

"Well," his voice was softer too, hesitant even at the prospect of what he was about to suggest, though his grin grew even wider, "we could share."

"Nikola Tesla!" She was too tired to slap him; righteous indignation would have to do.

"Come on Helen," he argued, all teasing set aside in favour of a more practical tone that was less likely to end with her slamming the door in his face and not talking to him for a week, "we've known each other nearly thirty years. When have I ever given you cause to doubt my-"

"Do you _really_ want me to answer that question?"

He gave her a pointed look to match her own. "Okay fine. But I promise, I mean nothing untoward… I just want to get a decent night's sleep."

Her suspicion was evidently mounting, and he knew then that the game was almost up. "Since when did you ever _need_ a decent night's sleep? You barely sleep for three hours as it is." There, in the way she stood to face him, the tilt of her head, the squint in her blue eyes, "_Nikola_?"

Yep, busted. Instantly he began to shy away from her scrutiny. It was barely perceptible, but she'd known him too long not to detect the slight recoil, the shiftiness that came before his admissions of truth.

"Out with it." She stood more sturdily, arms crossed like a parent might approach a naughty child.

"Out with what?" he quizzed unnecessarily, barely even stalling for time.

"There's something the matter…"

Magnus wasn't so sure it was as simple as him wanting to ogle her or take advantage. Aside from the fact that he'd never done so, never even attempted to before, and that for so much of his life Tesla had expressed nothing but great disdain towards physical contact, it just didn't fit. She just couldn't shift the sensation that he was trying to distract her from something else.

"What's wrong?" she tried again, a little softer, arms slipping down to rest against her sides.

It took a moment, but eventually Tesla sighed. He turned away, so she missed the look of consideration as he worked out his response; one which was true, but not entirely honest. His hand swept back his jacket to perch on his hip as he so often did when cornered, stepping back into his own space, and taking a collecting breath that hissed through his vocal chords like an engine.

"I found out about Astor."

Magnus' lips pinched with guilt, her eyes full of sympathy. Of course he'd be acting out of sorts, and of course he wouldn't want to bring it up when she was around, push her for answers – but it was clearly preying on his mind. Perhaps that's why he'd been so willingly distracted from his work for a cause he'd been so quick to criticise… and she'd been too wound up to question it. Or remember to give him the news herself.

"I'm sorry Nikola."

If he'd picked up on the depth of that statement he didn't show it. His shoulders slumped a little, his whole countenance depressed a little at the thought, and he started to wander towards the sideboard.

"I literally walked past the headlines, for days," he explained, "and I didn't even notice." Uncorking a bottle of wine he let it breathe, twisting towards Helen momentarily, "Didn't even know he was on board."

That guilty feeling began to build up again inside Magnus' chest. She'd robbed him of that, and if she was honest with herself, it was because she'd been scared of bringing up that night again to her own mind. Otherwise she wouldn't have spent the morning indulging in something so inconsequential as Tesla's homework. She'd have gone straight to his lab and let him know.

"But that was _Jack_ for you," he continued bitterly, "never one to pass up an opportunity to marvel at feats of engineering he could only just comprehend."

He was only being prickly about it because he cared, she knew, it was the same sarcasm that accompanied his most bitter disappointments. Besides which he had obviously regarded J.J's intellectual capacity with enough sincerity to tolerate his input into their projects – and to purposefully obfuscate the purpose of Colorado: a measure which would hardly have been necessary if Astor had been quite so dim as he now claimed.

She watched him pour out a glass of wine before turning to her, "Night cap?" He offered her a short glass of it, which she took, even though she'd have preferred a cup of tea at this point.

It would be a little sad to let him drink alone, she thought, despite the fact he physically couldn't drink himself to a stupor. "Thank you."

"And now what?" he plonked the bottle back on the table with a sigh, finally taking up his own glass and leaning against the sideboard as he spoke with her, "That kid of his wants to go into _publishing_," he pulled a face, lips pulling back from a sip on his own drink, "The little worm probably wouldn't even recognise a filament from a transformer if it electrocuted him – so now all my innovations in turbine engines is going to just – phwp – fall into a hole of legal bureaucracy."

And there was the rub. Magnus' expression hardened a little at Nikola's selfishness. Not that she didn't understand his concerns, but somehow she knew that the thought of losing his funding had not only been the first thought to cross his mind, it was also the one he cared about most.

"So I take it you and J.J. hadn't completely made amends then…"

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow of genuine surprise. "Why'd you say that?"

She shook her head. Honestly, sometimes she wondered if he'd been born on another planet; one where humanity had clearly never existed and compassion was an alien concept. She blinked slowly, "Never mind."

"We'd been getting along quite well actually, before he skipped off to Europe with Mary, Margret, May…" he wafted his hand around.

"Madeleine?"

"Yeah, that one. We were making good progress too…" that sour look crept in again at the thought of missing out on another Nobel Prize.

Magnus knew she needed to distract him, before she had to put up with a full-blown sulk. "Is that what this is…" she pointed in the direction of the window, and the contraption sat on the table beneath the sheet, "_progress_?"

He followed her singular digit, realising that she wasn't just pointing at the furniture. "No," he smirked between sips on his drink, and feeling no small amount of pride in the fact she'd taken an interest, "that's just a side-project. The turbine work is all in the labs."

That was all he said on the matter. No more, no less. Which was puzzling to Magnus; she had been certain that once she'd gotten him started on such an interesting invention he'd be engrossed for a good hour explaining it to her, and how he'd come across the _genius_ idea.

She wasn't going to push her luck though. Not when it had been the reason she'd not gone out to find him sooner... there it was again, that niggling guilt.

"Nikola I…" she stared at the middle-distance as if she was about to bore a hole in the furniture, "knew about Astor." Her remorseful expression finally managed to look him in the eye at the admission, though it wasn't without a hint of apprehension. Then it was his turn to look away, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she shook her head, concerned that the silence was one of genuine rejection, "It, honestly, I, didn't even think about it, it didn't occur to me until today. I was just so relieved to be on land…"

"Don't," he coaxed softly from across the room, until she met his gaze, "be sorry."

"But I should have said something. It would've been better coming from me, instead of the _daily papers _for God's sakes. Astor was your friend."

He half laughed, half-snorted in a reflective manner; recalling those few days where it had truly felt that way. Bent over blueprints explaining the next stage of development to Astor's eager ears, the aviation demonstrations, the after-dinner Cognac where the younger man would ask excitedly for an explanation of the theory of space travel. The millionaire had remained an insufferably optimistic and trusting man, but Tesla had never actually disliked him, whatever his past actions might've indicated.

In a way, Helen was right; it may have lessened the sharpness of reality to hear it from her tender lips. To hear it from someone who'd played witness, even if only from a distance… to a fate that could've well become her own. Nikola studied Magnus a little, and hesitated. He almost asked. Almost asked what had happened to Astor, but in the end it wasn't worth reminding her any more than he already had, of those terrors before she laid down to sleep. He felt that twinge of concern again, at the sounds he'd heard her utter in her dreams, of the frightened gasps, and keening whimpers. The most un-Magnus like sounds he'd ever heard in his life. They were more like the cries of a child than the strong woman he adored, and how he wished to chase them away.

Helen could tell, however, that it had crossed his mind to ask after Astor's final moments – recognising the look of consideration right before he dashed it.

"We met…" she offered into the peculiar silence, understanding somewhat the morbid curiosity which stirred in these situations, "quite by accident actually." Her voice went quiet, "He seemed like a lovely man. Certainly didn't deserve the cold shoulder everyone was giving him over the scandal – they loved each other very dearly, I think. Despite her age, rather than because of it."

Tesla remained unnervingly quiet, offering no comment to her observations. Not that Helen was particularly surprised by that alone. He was often tight-lipped about the few meaningful acquaintances he'd cultivated outside of the Five. She had read about his friendship with Mark Twain in a magazine! Long before he started recalling aloud how Samuel Clemens used to potter around in his laboratory – marvelling at his genius and providing him with the best study-company he'd ever had the pleasure of. Present company excluded, he'd been quick to add, but Helen was a scientist, so of course she'd understood the nuances of his method. Clemens had been more of a Renaissance man, and from the rare warmth Tesla described him by, she was aware that despite losing touch as life dragged the writer to its inevitable conclusion, the two had been close.

Of course, _that_ revelation hadn't been nearly as much of a shock as when she'd met Katherine Johnson after the 5th Avenue fire… it was moments like that when Magnus wondered whether she really did know him after all. It was as though he lived a double life, one that he had always seemed strangely reluctant to involve her in. Whereas, if he had so much as expressed an interest in her work at the Sanctuary, Helen would've had no hesitation involving him in her world... their world, really. The world the Five had built together. There would always be a place for Tesla there, and she hoped she'd never given him cause to think otherwise.

It was strange though, how his silence covered those barely veiled glances in her direction. It made her wonder if perhaps he was less worried about Astor and his impending financial situation as about her… it sounded bizarre even to her inner monologue after their conversation. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that despite the self-contemplative appearance, he was watching her closely, assessing her, searching for even a hint of her own inner thoughts.

Uncomfortable, suddenly, she put down her wine, having barely tasted it, and broke the wordlessness with a sigh. "I don't really feel like wine after all," she admitted, about to turn away.

"We can spend the morning building you an impromptu lab, if you like," he sprang to life again, alert with the prospect of a new project, "so you can run your tests on Mr Mystery?"

She smiled genuinely, "Thank you. That would be a great help. I'll have some money wired from London… to cover the costs."

Shrugging he stood and came closer, "Well…" his grin slowly elongated into something more cavalier – always the first sign that he was about to say something he knew full well he shouldn't dare to, "you know, I'm already getting something out of it if you're there, aren't I?"

She almost sniggered at the loaded compliment, finding her smile to be as irrepressible as her amusement. He noticed, despite the rather obvious roll of the eyes in his direction, and it encouraged him just a little.

"**Good night** Nikola."

Though she turned for the bedroom he did not lose his mischievous expression, it had been too much fun to tease.

Hanging back before the unlit fireplace, he just had to get in the last word. "Enjoy my bed," he threw out cheekily over his reclaimed glass of wine. He sipped, taking in the sight of her retreating form, and delighting, above all, in the brief, barely audible, chuckle which surreptitiously slipped passed her lips.

0 0 0

_Everywhere was a commotion, like ants scrabbling to combat the destruction of their nest, arms and hands deployed to shift the huge weights of two remaining lifeboats. Rounding the corner she could see the Starboard side was much further ahead, the men heaving in time to bring the Collapsible craft to the deck in one piece, down a make-shift slide of oars and wooden planks. She wanted to help but there was barely room to move between them all._

_The ship gave out an almighty shudder and she clung automatically to the railing, the bow suddenly lurching down, threatening to take the small craft beneath the sea. It was only then she realised, with terror clawing up her throat and eyes wide to the revelation, of how close they were to the water. Glancing behind her she could see the deck was already tilting, the gradient growing steadily higher. They weren't going to make it._

_Swallowing tightly as two men leapt to action, cutting the lifeboat free from the ropes in which it had become ensnared, she realised it wasn't going to make a clean break. Already the waves were creeping into it, washing people away and sucking them into the icy water with screams and gasps as their grasping hands gave up on them. The water swirled like a whirlpool, sucking, growling as it gulped them in._

_Heart hammering with growing panic, flooding her veins with adrenaline and fear, Magnus found her feet already clawing backwards, scrabbling up the deck to stay in the dry. The minute she hit that water she'd be facing a ticking clock, she knew, before her body succumbed to the exposure. She'd seen it before, in the Swiss Alps, when they'd lost their eager assistant to the unseasonal cold. His whole body had turned blue._

_Shrieks filled her ears, the music replaced by the growing clamour as everyone still on board shifted towards the now rising stern. Magnus tripped, scrambling to stand and saw, out of all the things in the world, a sack of food in her eye line. The angle let the contents slip out the way she came, tins and packets moving towards her. A pack of lard slid like a toy and her brain fired in all directions; vague memories of Nigel's experiments providing a moment of fevered inspiration. Grabbing for it manically she managed to propel herself further up deck, ripping off the wrapping, until the soft white fat was plied in her fingertips. One hand trying to loosen her upper garments and the weighty life-preserver, the other lathering her neck with the disgusting substance, her feet somehow carried her upwards with everyone else. She smeared as much as she could against her skin, trying to create a layer beneath her clothes as she glanced desperately, left and right, for the nearest water-tight boat to her position._

_The bizarrely clear thought crossed her mind that she had been a fool for giving up the chance. It was every man for themselves, even then, there hadn't been time for anything else. Now she was faced with the knowledge that this was literally a last ditched attempt, and still, she could not stop herself._

_A man grabbed her roughly by the strings of her jacket, making her jump out of her skin, grunting, clawing to remove the open life preserver hanging loosely around her body. His wild features frantically tearing as she fought to hold her ground, twisting and clinging desperately, to keep it firm in place. The lights flickered. She hefted an elbow into his eye-socket with a great big thump, following it with a punch that further tenderised the delicate flesh. The man recoiled, bleeding, keening into his hands and she didn't have a moment to feel sorry._

_He came at her again with a heart-tearing squeal, and with her slippy hands gripped around the revolver in her pocket she pointed it towards him and squeezed. Against the noise the crack was indistinguishable from the almighty heave of a funnel collapsing, but she had scared him off without hitting him; her shaky aim off-put by the slide of her finger against the metal._

_A false sense of control slid through her. Her clothes flapped at the openings where she'd been so desperately applying the fat to her epidermis, the chill hitting her as if a wind had stirred. Tying herself back in and doing up her clothes before anyone else got the same idea she realised the water had gained on her. Starting to slip along with the debris, she was soon losing her footing. Just in front people were already grabbing for support. _

_In the fray she had ended up on the port side, and as the lights finally gave way to the darkness of the crystalline sky, she knew she had to get clear, before she ended up at the mercy of a metallic leviathan._

_A deafening crack of thunder ripped through her feet, up ankles, legs and hips, into her very heart. Cries and shouts of fear accompanying the boom of metal tearing under pressure, ripping like flesh, with cables and glass and splintered wood. Terror flooded, her stomach dropped again, like a stone, her limbs feeling leaden as her mind worked faster than her body to move. The metal railings felt sharp as they shook in her grip, the damp cold slipping through her petticoats to her legs as they swung over the slowly dropping side, then all there was, was falling. The sight of the water coming towards her, dark and bottomless, as it rippled around the object behind her with an almighty rush._

_Then cold. Freezing, bone shattering cold, seizing her lungs and crushing the air out of her. She gasped upon the surface, her arms flailing wildly, legs kicking desperately away. Never had she been gladder for the unconventional upbringing her father had given her. She swam away toward the last boat she'd seen, bobbing in the water, hoping, praying: concentrating on the sensation of moving through the heavy weight. Every fibre against her body grew cold and heavy, like a clammy hand of death reaching up for her from the sea, and still she swam like a madman, whilst others floundered and cried like sitting ducks bereft of wings. Her breath steamed in the air as her limbs began to ache, as her muscles began to sag with utter fatigue._

_Her eyes were wide, fixated on the boat up ahead, but it seemed to float further and further away. The current pressed against her, she was sure of it. This is how it was going to end. Her body dragged down to the ocean floor in an icy heap to lay in the black, until the fish had seen fit to pick away at her flesh._

_She kicked again with renewed strength, concentrating on the pound of her legs so hard that the sounds of the catastrophe in her wake became obsolete. Still the boat got no nearer, still she felt the press of exhaustion, of her flesh being worn away by the coldest saline solution she'd ever experienced._

_It was too much. She slowed – her arms nothing but deadweight. She treaded, and then she could tread no more, her feet slipping as though searching for a surface to rest on. Her eyes grew heavy, and all she could think was that she needed to rest. She really, really needed to rest._

_The water rose up, the cold rushing to surround her ears and nose and mouth, until it sucked, and pulled, and eventually succeeded in dragging her down. The last thing she saw was the boat up ahead, still too far away, before there was nothing but the press of water on her crown, the hard hands of fate grasping her leg, drowning her, pulling her deeper and deeper into darkness._

* * *

**Author's Note**: Yes, I checked, J.J. Astor IV was known by _Jack_... weird for a John Joseph, but hey-ho. I prefer J.J. myself. =)


	9. Chapter 9 - Black Seas of Infinity

There was an ache starting to form in her head: that dull, dehydrated feeling between the eyes that forces you to take note of your dry mouth and sleepy legs… and the fact that she'd been staring down a microscope for the last three hours solid. Sighing briefly she pressed her eyes together and released, gazing distractedly out the window on her right.

New York's skyline was an immense expanse of silver and sky – the slowly sinking light reflecting off of window panes like it did the sea, in sharply defined and orderly rows that opened out into the infinity of the ocean. From up here the world made sense – everything had its place – a far cry from the teeming reality on the ground. That _this_ was where Nikola had chosen to locate his workplace made complete sense to her.

After all, he'd always had rather impeccable, not to mention expensive, tastes. The Metropolitan Life building was not just one of New York's famous skyscrapers, naturally, but _the_ tallest building in the world. Besides which, Helen rather suspected the Campanile-esque tower and Renaissance features had appealed to his old-world, Classicist sensibilities. From the outside at least she found it rather garish, like a Coney Island replica scaled to the greatest possible heights. Inside, however, the layout was highly functional, comfortably appointed, and the view… spectacular.

He had grinned so wide when he'd introduced her to it, extending an arm towards the panes of glass with a dramatic flair, his whole body enthused as he anticipated, correctly, the look of astonishment that would possess her features. She smiled at the memory, shifting in her seat a little in order to stretch her back. Now the evening would soon be upon them, and Helen wasn't sure any amount of tea was going to resuscitate her concentration. She was just _too_ exhausted. Frankly, her eyes were gagging for the opportunity to close, first chance they got, and she had to count the platelets _three times_ before getting it right.

She'd have to pull a few strings and get her hands on the coroner's report when it was finished, just to correlate with her results – but in the meantime, she was starting to get a picture. The report she'd been concocting from the blood work seemed to support their theory: Platelet levels indicated the likelihood of a toxic substance, no indication of a bacterial infection, though there were similarities to the sort of results she'd expect from an allergic reaction… the toxicology results would probably reveal more. At the moment her best guess was precisely that – a toxin – and the sample of fluid from the wound was looking increasingly interesting.

Tapping the base of her pen against the table, Helen caught her eyes drifting to the window again, and the white gulls heading out towards the docks. Out to where the Carpathia was no doubt still in harbour: if it hadn't been sent out in search of the dead. She bit back the emotion that threatened to gather in her throat and took a steadying breath. Composed, she felt the sudden need for disturbance and distraction. The make shift lab seemed to shrink on her: it was too quiet, too sterile, too bereft of life. She needed a break, and if she was going to stop now, well, she might as well stop until after dinner at least. Perhaps take a short rest.

Packing up the samples and experiments so that only the ones still developing remained out, she tugged off the spare lab coat and headed for the adjoining office. She nearly knocked on the open door, before she saw Tesla's back was rigid in his chair, his chin perched atop interlaced hands in deep thought. Narrowed eyes were cutting through whatever mathematical or theoretical problem had stalled his progress with all the intensity of a concentrated laser, so that Magnus was somewhat loathed to be the cause of a distraction. She hung at the door, debating whether or not to simply leave him a note, when she realised those fierce grey eyes had turned on her – flat, and slightly annoyed at the disruption.

She half-opened her mouth to speak, but paused long enough for him to get in first.

"First you banish me to my office to stop distracting _you_…"

"Think of it as returning the favour," she smirked coyly, remembering how infuriated she'd been with him pacing, and hovering, and tinkering, in the other room, "I'm going back to the hotel for a spell, but I was thinking of coming back after dinner – if that's alright?"

The slightly narked expression disappeared in an instant, "I'll escort you back." He said, making to get up.

"I'm _fine_," she insisted, making him pause and look at her interestedly. Realising she'd been a bit forceful in her reply she made a conscious effort to sound calm and reasonable, "I mean… I don't want to stop you in the middle of-" she gestured aimlessly at his work.

"A bit late for that, don't you think?" he smiled.

She looked back reprovingly, "No, no. It's only ten minutes or so down the road. You carry on and get to a more natural stopping point, and I can meet you for dinner later; it's still only… six o'clock."

He smiled toothily, a little coyly, fingers absently drawing shapes on the nearest piece of furniture, "Well, I have a reservation for us outside the hotel… if that's okay?" She looked surprised but not instantaneously adverse, he gestured, a little nervously, as he continued, "Thought you might prefer a change of scene after last time."

She was looking at him as though trying to work out his angle, "Where?" Her words came out a little suspiciously, "And there better not be another dress waiting for me in the hotel room."

His smile was unrelenting, "Delmonicos, where else?"

Helen's frosty mistrust melted a little at the mention his favourite haunt, where the food was excellent and, more importantly, the wine list sublime. "I'd like that, thank you," She smiled, warmly, pleased by the thought of a more pleasant distraction. However much she enjoyed her work, it couldn't be called a relaxing pursuit, and she supposed she could use a little more of that than she had first estimated.

"Go on," Nikola said, attempting to settle back into his thought process by casting another glance over the formula on the chalk board, "try and get some sleep."

The comment made her pause, snapping her thoughts back to last night as though they'd been tied together with elastic. Her eyes narrowed a touch, wondering why he seemed so concerned for her sleeping habits all of a sudden.

It was almost as if he knew that those memories had been haunting her, causing her restless, sleepless nights. Then again, maybe she shouldn't be so surprised if he did. With his hearing, he could no doubt monitor her heart rate and breathing from the next room in the silence of the night. That didn't make the thought of Tesla potentially knowing just how vulnerable she felt right now, any easier to accept. In fact, it rather brought out Helen's stubborn streak. She was sorely tempted to pointedly storm back into the lab and carry on working until she was flat out exhausted and he literally dragged her to eat, sleep, and rest.

Except Magnus wasn't stupid, and she knew when it was in her best interests to swallow her pride… unlike certain other people she could name. So she simply nodded, distantly, filing away her observations to call him out on his concern later, when it might be of greater value. Right now, it could only lead to an awkward conversation about things she had no desire to discuss, and memories she had no desire to relieve in her waking hours.

That she left without so much as a comment on his remark, made him turn his head to watch her go. A gritted disquiet elbowed in where calculations for heat resistance should've been, setting his mind off down another kind of labyrinth entirely: one where the variables were far more numerable and the risk infinitely high.

0 0 0

The walk to the hotel had been chill and brisk, the wind rattling through the Roman-straight roads and dragging with it the occasional shower. Still, Helen didn't mind. She was rather keen on that crisp, refreshing feeling after an afternoon indoors. By the time she got up to the twelfth floor the light outside had dimmed significantly under the influence of thick, heavy clouds, and that wind was rattling round the exterior windows as though it might succeed in punching a hole through the pane.

Exiting the elevator she carried on walking down the red corridor, round the corner to Tesla's rooms, wondering to herself who their victim was: who his family were, what his connection to the Titanic might've been. John Doe's body was starting to yield its secrets, but aside from knowing he was a gentleman of means, they didn't even know if he'd been staying at the hotel – a fact which could be easily ascertained. Something which would have been almost first on James' list; had he only been here to steer their investigation.

An abrupt crash from behind brought her to an immediate halt. If it had sounded accidental Magnus probably would've kept walking, but the smashing crockery had come down far too hard to have been incidental. Curious, her Doctor's instincts wanting to make sure that whoever it was hadn't hurt themselves in the process, she backtracked, almost certain that she was about to come upon something unusual.

Sure enough, there was a maid leaning back against the wall, the remnants of a tea tray thrown a good distance away towards a door, the coffee pot in bits and its black liquid spreading across the evening paper. The young woman was clutching her head as if in pain, her breathing sharp and irregular, drawing through clenched, bared teeth. She was whimpering as though she'd been in a fever for hours, eyes shut tight against the light.

"What's the matter?" Helen asked, quickly making her way over.

The girl shifted, as though the pain was unbearable, as though she might, somehow, be able to outrun it. She was struggling to steady her breathing, and instead all that came out was a long, whimpering gasp.

"Don't panic," Magnus heard herself offer calmly, though her heart was pounding at the sight of her, "let me take a look."

She was almost close enough to lend a supportive hand when the maid span on the spot and started to take hurried, uncoordinated steps in the other direction. Thoughts of the crash victim's behaviour flashed in Helen's head, and instinctively she grabbed for her shoulders, hoping to keep the girl still enough to appraise her symptoms. Instead she shrugged and tore away as if to run, forcing Magnus to drop her bag, and grapple with the maid's flailing limbs and skirts. Tackling her to the ground, to stop her shooting off into whatever hazard might cross her path, the girl began to scream and thrash wildly beneath Helen's steady grip. Her face was contorted by some frenzy such as Helen had only seen on rabid dogs.

Cautioned by the comparison she made sure to keep the girl's teeth at bay, though what she was going to do next at this point was anyone's guess. Her sedatives were in the bag abandoned across the floor.

A door opened up ahead, a woman in her thirties whose eyes immediately bulged at the sight of the two women on the floor, and threw a hand to cover her wide-open jaw. "Dear lord, what happened?"

Helen grimaced, looking at the guest in a way she hoped would engender some compassion for her situation. "She's having a seizure, I need my medical bag." She nodded behind herself where it lay abandoned, "Would you be so kind…?"

The maid gave a moan and a lurch beneath her, almost causing Helen to lose her grip.

"Oh of course…" the woman insisted, sneaking round as though the maid was sleeping and needed to not be disturbed.

"Quickly," Helen urged, noticing something rather worrying in her fingertips, "her pulse is increasing she could go into shock."

The woman said no more, presenting the bag in a heartbeat.

"Open it up, in the main compartment." Helen instructed in her most sensible and commanding voice, making sure to keep eye contact with her. "Show me… thank you, right, the blue vial, it's a sedative… I'm going to open her mouth, and I need you to administer two drops."

The woman looked worried for a minute, but soon realised that there was nothing else that could be done. The maid flailing wildly looked in fear of her life, and this woman was entirely tied up with stopping her coming to harm. Her maternal instincts took over, sealing her mouth shut and throwing a steady nod of assent in Magnus' direction.

"Alright." Magnus was starting to feel the strain of fighting against the maid's strong, young limbs. Mustering her strength, she took one hand away from the girl's wrists and gripped the girl's jaw like a cat at the veterinarians. The middle-aged woman managed to keep herself together, slipping two drops from such a distance that they almost landed on her chin instead, but they hit home nonetheless. The minute they were in Helen closed the girl's jaw until it had time to be swallowed down, and took a proper pulse reading from the neck.

Slowly but surely the girl stopped tossing and turning, pulling and hefting, slipping into an uncomfortable looking sleep. Her pulse was stable, her breathing rapid, but regular.

Magnus finally had time to look at the woman who'd so kindly helped them. She'd fallen into a soft, stunned shock almost the instant her part had been played. Gaping at the scene as though she were a hundred miles from it, her hands clutching aimlessly to the bag and trembling ever so slightly.

"Dr Helen Magnus," she introduced herself, offering her hand to get the woman actively doing something, "thank you for your help."

"Marie." The woman accepted the hand, "Mrs Marie Cabot. My goodness…" she couldn't stop staring at the girl. "I heard the commotion and I…"

"Marie, could you ring the bell in your room?"

"What? Yes, oh yes, of course. Of course, she can't stay here." In a flurry Mrs Cabot hoisted herself up, shuffling into her room as quickly as her dress would allow, to call for help.

In the surprising silence that followed Magnus let out a breath she didn't even realise she'd been holding onto, taking in her surroundings and the broken crockery one door down. What had set this off?

The girl had rather fetching dark hair, Italianate complexion, and though she was of average height, she'd been exceptionally strong. Even in sleep her brows were furrowed, and starting to perspire. Magnus was keen to keep her under observation to make sure the situation didn't deteriorate.

Marie returned, but hovered around uselessly, only making a fuss when a few servants who hadn't been called found them, and immediately exclaimed their surprise.

"We need to move her." Magnus interceded quickly, addressing the footman first.

"Of, of course but hadn't I… I mean, I'm not sure I can take her very far ma'm."

"That's fine, we can move her to where I'm staying. I'm quite happy to see to her needs."

He did a double take at such an unusual offer, but nodded, picking up the girl with a heave. His reservations could wait until after the crisis was averted.

"Where?" he asked, struggling a little under the weight.

"That way," she pointed, "Mr Tesla's suite."

She noted with amusement that the footman almost rolled his eyes at the mere mention of him; perhaps the staff had grown a little tired of all the wine bottles that inevitably accumulated each day?

"Thank you Mrs Cabot," Magnus offered quickly before they started to move, "I am very grateful to you for your help."

She smiled, throwing up her hands, "No, no, I… you're welcome."

The other servant followed them as they started in the direction of the suite.

"Do you know her?" Magnus asked with a kindly tone.

"Yes, Kat and me do the linens. What's-"

"Has she ever had a fit, or convulsion before? Does she have any conditions?"

The girl balked at the idea, "You think they'd hire someone who's ill Ma'm? This is the _Waldorf-Astoria_. If she had a probl'm she ain't been tellin' nobody."

"Well then, I need you to go find your superior. I need to know for certain if there was anything which your employers were already aware of."

She nodded and quickly made off for the servants' access, leaving them to bring the maid to her bed.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Firstly – I'm running a competition. Chapters 3, 6, 8 and 9 all have titles based on lyrics from songs, or quotes from novels. The person to correctly guess their inspiration before the next chapter goes up will get one Sanctuary Fic request out of me. And if you don't manage to get them right then the nearest one will receive a dedication in my next posting.

Second – apologies to **SparkySheDemon**… no Tesla-interrupted dreams today!

Third – Big thanks to tellie and onthecoast6 for your very flattering reviews – and Hannah from the Facebook Group The Five, who wrote a lovely review on facebook!

Fourth – to anyone I haven't thanked by name for reviews, following or faving – THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. It's true what they say folks, the more reviews you get, the more you feel like people care whether you should finish it!


	10. Chapter 10 - Great Neptune's Ocean

Catherine Marino was indeed a Little Italy native, nineteen years old and still in the flush of youth. She had never had a day off sick since she'd started as a domestic servant at thirteen, and never come out in a rash. No one among the staff could vouch for any former medical history, or precedent for what had befallen her today, so Magnus had insisted that her mother be contacted, despite the Head Maid's reservations. She was due within the hour, and though was going to ask the woman the same searching questions, Helen had a feeling that she already knew what the answers would be.

Tiredly, concern etched on her face, Helen brushed aside the lock of hair that had spread across the maid's forehead, and felt the clammy sweat of the fever which had broken out. Having stabilised Catherine, and finally convinced all involved to let the girl rest, she was left with the sinking suspicion that there was nothing more she could do now, except wait.

The door to the bedroom burst open, throwing a shaft of light into Helen's eyes that she hadn't been expecting, though she recognised the shadow well enough.

"Nikola? I thought you weren't coming back until dinner."

He shrugged, moving into the room and leaving the door ajar to see what, exactly, was in his bed, and confirm what he'd already overheard in the lobby. "I couldn't get back into it – are you collecting patients now?" His expressive, directional finger doing something of a dance over the bed, "It's not the Sanctuary you know, my suite isn't a hospital for abnormal strays."

Despite the insincerity of his tone the words smarted a little: that disparagement he always expressed about her family's work, as if he thought it was beneath him… or her. She resented it, particularly when the Five had lived and breathed for the very knowledge which the Sanctuary continued to provide them with today.

Giving him her best hard stare Magnus pointed to Catherine's arm.

The girl had been dressed down to her undergarments when they were getting her into bed, and in so doing they had revealed a rather familiar looking bite. It glared back, swollen and raw, the same size, same shape, only this time located a little below the elbow. _Another limb_. Tesla looked at her inquisitively and she could tell he'd had the exact same thought. Another bite from a creature on the defensive, and another rather disturbing set of nerve-wracking symptoms. Only this time, at least, she hadn't run into an untimely death.

"I managed to convince her employers to allow me to tend to her. As I offered my services for free I can only presume they saw it as something of a bargain."

Tesla laughed humourlessly, shortly, "Has she deteriorated?"

She shook her head, "Stabilised, actually. I'm rather hopeful she might fight it off..."

"But…"

"Whatever's in this bite," she sighed, shaking a little test tube with a swab inside just in front of her, "it might not leave much behind. I might be completely wrong, maybe it will start attacking her other organs over a longer period as well as her brain – but it _is_ affecting her nervous system, and I'm not sure what the long-term damage may be if she manages to pull through."

"Like a snake bite."

"Yes, only instead of a speedy paralysis or organ failure, its causing acute head pain, followed by disorientation, convulsions, and then fever-like symptoms. So the question is; if she doesn't start to_ improve_, how do we treat her?" Magnus looked towards her patient again, "I've already done what I can, and it will keep her within a fighting chance, but she needs to be kept under twenty-four hour observation until we can administer an antidote."

Tesla's eyebrows were high as he sighed a little. "So I guess that's Delmonico's out."

"I think this girl's _life_ is a bit more important than an evening in a luxury restaurant Nikola – don't you?"

"Okay," he started defensively, "let's, just, take a moment… I wasn't-" her glare was unrelenting, "Look," he took the test tube from her hands, clearing his throat a little as he did, "how about, I go back to the lab to find out what _this_ is, and then I'll take the later watch so _you_ can catch some sleep?"

She eyed him suspiciously, "And you're just offering to do all that out of the kindness of your heart."

"What?" He shrugged innocently, a pretence he could never quite pull off for all the shiftiness in his eyes, and the slight glimmer of a grin that always ghosted his face whenever he felt clever. "I can't be altruistic?"

Magnus was losing the will to argue when he wasn't going to be serious about all this anyway. She merely rubbed her eyes, "Fine. Just… be careful with it. We have no way of knowing how virulent it is, or whether it would affect you."

"So nice to know you care Helen." He jibed coyly.

"Don't let it go to your head." She managed a little more light heartedly, "If you start experimenting with that sample and it's not to create an antidote I swear…"

"Don't worry," he insisted, "you have my word. I will not look into the practical applications of this toxin, until we've figured out how best to cure it."

The shark-like grin was both trying and reassuring at the same time. She shook her head at him, remembering, rather suddenly that she'd taken the girl's blood sample as well. "Here," she leant over and retrieved it, placing it into his cold hands, "might be an idea to compare her sample to our first bite victim. And… thank you…" her voice grew softer, "for offering to help."

Tesla's heart had quickened at that temporary touch. He found himself lagging a little behind with the conversation, and had to take a moment to close his fingers round the second glass container, to return to reality. Bite sample, blood sample, find out the nature of the toxin. Right. "If this turns out to be a garden variety snake…" he joked.

Magnus finally began to look a lot less grim, "Believe me, I will be the first to jump for joy."

"Liar." He pitched before leaving.

She watched him retreat with a knowing smile, he was right. It just wasn't the same when it had already been discovered. Nevertheless, she would have been glad of a chance to tell the girl's mother she could be treated and recover within the week – an infinitely more plausible situation if they knew the lay of the land. She checked the pulse again; vaguely aware that the wind was picking up from the metallic sounds whistling through the vents. She should probably have mentioned that to someone, she thought distantly to herself, remembering the sound she'd heard yesterday morning. There might be something loose and flapping about.

Making a quick note of Catherine's heart rate and temperature in a notepad, Helen settled back into her seat and tried to keep her eyes open. The mother would be here soon, and if that scraping, clunking noise carried on nagging at her consciousness like it was, she might just manage to greet her with some kind of alertness.

0 0 0

_Frustrated, Magnus actively barged her way into the next room, ignoring the hapless servant trying to bar her from the first class suite, and suddenly recognising the occupant was none other than Margaret Brown._

"_Mrs Brown," she addressed the long faced woman, "get dressed, quickly, we need to evacuate the ship."_

"_Whatever for?"_

_Helen grimaced, "Please, we don't have time to argue. The ship is sinking. They're readying the lifeboats as we speak."_

"_Sinking?!"_

_One of the servants with half a brain returned from having taken a look down the corridor, "She's right ma'm," he corroborated, "the order's gone out to congregate in the Lounge."_

_Magnus had seen it with her own eyes as the crew had started the scrabble for the lifeboats. "Find everyone you can," she insisted for good measure, making for the next room before she heard another barrage of first class twaddle about it being cold outside! The first few rooms she'd reached the servants had been unconvinced and prevented her entry – until the stewards appeared and informed them the same. It was only a few more doors before it became obvious that the ship's staff finally had things in hand. The bizarre and worrisome sound of the engines did somewhat help in moving people along. _

_As though the shock were wearing out a little, Magnus had a clear thought and knew, in an instant, that she'd be of more use below deck. She ran back to her own rooms, grabbing extra layers and throwing them on. For all their complaining, the passengers had been right – it was a perfectly crisp night and they needed to stay warm. Finding her medical bag, she threw in her journal and her father's revolver from the top draw, knowing it would be all she could save. There wasn't time for anything more._

_Tugging on her lifebelt, she was soon out of her room again, urging everyone she saw to get out and onto the boat deck. Descending the ship, the situation only got worse and worse. Stewards about the second class rooms might not have had time to personally escort their passengers, but they were moving nonetheless – responding to the increasing commotion with good sense for the most part. It was the third class accommodation on G Deck, where Magnus' heart stopped with dread._

_Down here people were just starting to stir, the few stewards who'd noticed what was happening slamming half-heartedly, abruptly, on doors with a cursory shout. Not unlike prison wardens on a morning call. As though a guttural shout was going to make the occupants realise the danger they were in! Magnus almost instinctively started encouraging the few who had poked their heads out to get to the stairs, to put on their life-belt, and go get their children, fast._

_Every time the ship groaned her bones shook. She could feel the terror starting to shine in her eyes. It was the thought of the children not getting out which scared her the most. They scuttled past, tripping on their own feet as the ship slowly listed. She was doing her best to direct them, keeping a hawk's eye out for anyone who'd been injured._

_Then she reached a closed gate, completely unmanned, barring the way for the passengers beyond. Those passengers who had realised something serious was going on, baying and calling for her help._

"_Bitte Frauline."_

"_What's happened?" Magnus asked, checking it over, noticing the lock and wondering if she could just break it off._

"_It is to separate." One of them offered in broken English, "We go to America. To live!"_

"_The bastards have locked us in!"_

"_Hold on." Magnus commanded, using her sternest tone so as not to increase their panic, though she herself could feel it bubble inside. She was sure no one had done this on purpose – forgotten about them, maybe, but on purpose? That would've been beyond cold. "I'm going to try and break it off."_

"_What are you doing?!" called a desperately high-pitched voice behind her._

_She span on the steward, a dishevelled and panic-stricken man of thirty, "You've got to go Miss, get up to top deck immediately."_

"_Do you have the key?"_

_He grabbed her arm, and she slipped out of his grip, "There's no time," he tried to grasp her arm again, "come on."_

"_Answer my question."_

"_If you want to die - fine!" _

_She could see now, the dread in the man's eyes, as if he'd seen something further down the corridor and sanity decided to take a holiday. He started to leave, not even sparing a glance at the angry people still trapped._

"_Give me the key." She demanded, but he wasn't listening. Helen didn't think, she merely did – reaching into her bag for the revolver and pointing it at his head as she dropped the safety. "I am not going to ask again."_

_He paused at the tone in her voice, spinning round to investigate the heavy threat in her words. At the sight of the gun he gulped, audibly, hands trembling as he held them out defensively before him._

_The corridor felt as though it were narrowing in on her, but she couldn't ease off on the intimidation now. She wasn't entirely sure where this had come from, or how she wasn't babbling, offering platitudes and alternatives in order to convince him to do as she had asked. The entire corridor was hushed for what seemed like forever, but all she did was stare determinedly down the barrel and into the steward's eyes. It was like Worth all over again. Except this man was innocent; misguided, but innocent, and she – Helen Magnus – was threatening him with a gun. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach._

"_Easy lady…"_

"_Where is it?!"She reiterated._

"_What?" _

"The **key**_."_

_At the sight of those bright blue eyes deadening in his direction he reached, quickly, into his waistcoat pocket. Then the boat gave an eerie whine all around them and the people behind her began to shriek._

Magnus snapped awake with a jolt, as if her mind had opened up an emergency escape and let her out of her nightmares. She was still sitting in the same seat in which she'd drifted off, next to the feverous Catherine in the dim bedroom light. How could she have fallen asleep! She instantly checked on the girl, making a note of her vital readings and more than relieved to see there had been no change in the… however long she'd been asleep. It felt like hours.

Only then, as she relaxed back into the chair, did she realise Nikola was standing right next to her.

"Oh God, Nikola," she tried to calm her nerves but they'd shot a mile in her surprise, "_don't_ sneak up on me like that."

He was looking at her with unveiled concern, "I hardly snuck up on you." In fact, thinking about it, Helen thought he looked rather like he wanted to offer her some kind of comfort.

To her great relief he was tactfully restraining himself from broaching the now obvious, but unspoken, acknowledgement that her memories were clearly haunting her. Still, she watched him momentarily, waiting for that observation to come, expecting the considering look upon his face to blossom out of hesitation, into outright kindness.

Part of her anticipated the reprieve of being able to tell someone, but the other, louder, part of her psyche was tying itself into terrified knots at the prospect of being unstable, weak, dependent on somebody else. She was almost relying on him not to break character, not to revert back to the reserved, wry, yet ultimately generous student she'd first met, and to maintain that bold indifference, that sarcastic selfishness which had dominated him since the source blood. Just as long as she kept ignoring _that look_, maybe they could carry on as normal.

She turned away from him, concentrating on the patient, though it was clear her attention was anywhere but on the girl. She hadn't even bothered to snap back a retort. He'd tried distracting her, giving her space to breathe. Clearly that wasn't enough.

Nikola knew he would have to tackle this head on, but something held him back from asking the obvious question. Cornering Magnus on her state of mind after what had clearly been a terrifying nightmare was a foolish gambit. She'd only throw up walls ten times higher, accuse him of underestimating her, and send him out on his ear. It might get them somewhere eventually, but in the meantime, Tesla would be dealing with a rather peevish and uncooperative Helen, throwing endless barbs in his direction and treating him like the villain. As entertaining as that might be from time to time, this was serious. If she wasn't going to open up willingly, he would have to bide his time… wait for the opportune moment – and this wasn't it.

"Go." He told her neutrally, eying up the patient and the notepad still lingering under Helen's fingers. She seemed momentarily confused by the instruction, so he elaborated, "It's my turn to keep watch, remember?"

"Did you get any results?" she remembered to ask, looking ten times more alert than she had just seconds before as she stood from her post.

He nodded slightly as he explained, "I'll let you know in the morning."

Some kind of objection was already mustering on her lips.

"_No arguments_," he insisted, sweeping into her place with one movement, "it can wait. You need to rest… unless you plan on falling asleep on the job again," he teased flatly, for good measure.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but she was so tired and thankful for the dismissal, that she didn't bother rising to it. Not that she'd manage to get back to sleep anyway! Right now the very thought of it, of going back to that place, terrified her, but she'd be damned if she was going to let it on when Tesla was around.

"Thank you," she responded quietly, heading for the lounge and sighing as though the world was weighing on her shoulders.

It was a sobering sound; one which made Nikola wonder, yet again, what on earth she had been through to be quite as shaken as this.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_Holy moly I'm on a roll! Double update whammy!

I realise I've made a boo boo – because Molly wasn't known as Molly until AFTER the Titanic. She was a Maggie to her friends… sooo for those of you that read the chapters as they went up, that will soon change in the earlier chapters. :)

Also, forgive me for ripping off the film just a little! I did some fact hunting. Apparently there was some obstruction caused to the 3rd class passengers by the use of these immigration barriers to control the flow of people up to the top decks – only there were reports that some of the stewards abandoned them or waited too long before allowing them to head on up, because they were waiting for orders. Basically it was all a complete mess in steerage! So this could, theoretically, have happened. But pretty much everyone is sure that the stewards wouldn't have willfully held people down there out of malicious snobbery, just misguided-ness, hence the freaking out employee.

In other news keep your eye out for Tesla and Griffin in The Invisible Man, a series of one-shots based on Griff and his relationships with other members of the Five.


	11. Chapter 11 - Saltwater

Morning had brought a little improvement in the maid's health, enough that Tesla didn't fear Magnus' reproach for leaving the bedroom door open and leaving to check in on her. The girl's breathing was regular now and deep, her heart rate steady. With any luck the worst of her ordeal was over. Quietly he stole into the brighter room, where the curtains were already wide open, and Helen had rooted herself by his experiment at the window, hands wrapped round a china cup as she stared at the rooftops. The just-eaten remains of her breakfast were by the fire place, though she was already dressed for the day in her sombre black.

It was like a uniform on her, utilitarian, distant. Tesla wasn't sure whether he liked it. Her expression was weary, tired; just like it had been when she'd stepped off the Carpathia. He'd been doing his best to pretend as if all was normal with her, to _not_ treat her like some kind of invalid and coddle her with hollow comforts… but this wasn't normal, _she_ isn't normal. Another part of her has detached.

When his vampirism had surfaced Tesla had experienced that same severing of self. That dark pit where you weren't entirely sure whether you had lost everything you were before, to the uncontrollable sensation taking up residence inside of you. It made you desperate, unpredictable: rarities indeed in the calm, decisive doctor.

The thing was, Tesla knew what he'd like to do, what he'd like to say, but he didn't have the right. They were friends, and if he wanted it to stay that way there were lines that couldn't be crossed, ways of expressing what he felt that were just too close, too honest to allow things to continue as they had before. Once said, such things could not be unsaid, and until he had more data, he had no intention of testing that particular hypothesis for it to simply bite back. That didn't mean, of course, that he could just ignore what he had seen, plain as day, in Helen's unusually conflicted demeanour.

"Give it five years and you'll see nothing but the walls of other buildings."

She looked up to him, realising his presence in the room, and almost getting out of her chair "How's Miss Marino?"

"She's fine," he dismissed, urging her to sit back with a gesture of his hand, a direction which, surprisingly, she took. "Breathing's regular, pulse returning to normal, and the shaking's stopped." Having reeled off the list, he looked at Magnus as if to say 'see, nothing to worry about', before growing more serious, noting the redness of her eyes, "You didn't sleep again."

Not a question, not an accusation, just a statement. Still it clearly irritated Magnus that he'd noticed. "No. It's a bit hard to rest with a veritable wave of, presumably abnormal, attacks on my mind."

She was dodging it again, covering it well but ultimately, in his presence at least, failing. She was drinking up the tea as though she could force it down and remove herself from his scrutiny.

"...and everything else," he hinted.

Her stare was ever so slightly panicked, darting to look him straight in the eyes, holding them for the longest of moments before - "I'm not sure I understand what you mean-"

"Come on Helen," he sighed, deriving no pleasure from being right this time, "we've known each other too long – besides, you talking in your sleep is strange enough."

The thought of mumbling aloud anything she actually said in her dreams sent an icy shiver down Helen's spine. Knowing that, of all people, Nikola had been the one to hear it, put her instantly on guard.

For his part, the words Nikola wanted to use simply hesitated in his oesophagus. _You can't let it prey on you, night after night, _he wanted to say, _talk to me, confide in me… you are not alone_. I am here. _As a friend,_ just in case there was any ambiguity on that front,_ I am here._

Instead, the front door burst open, along with an overwhelming sense of relief in Magnus' bones, as Miss Marino's friend – the maid who had been with the footman yesterday evening – bowled rudely in.

"I'm so sorry Dr Magnus," she spoke quickly, her whole body humming with panic so that Helen instantly reclaimed her sense of self and stood to attention, "…Mr Tesla."

"What's the matter?" she asked, already moving towards her.

"It's Mrs Cabot, down the corridor…"

"Just breathe…" Helen realised she couldn't remember the girl's name, even as she took her shaking hands to reassure her.

"She's dead."

Helen blanched, having expected to be called upon to help someone and realising, just as suddenly, that there was nothing she could do. She looked at Nikola, who frowned slightly, not knowing the name but understanding this was serious.

"When?" She asked, manoeuvring the shaken maid to sit on the sofa, and squatting down in front of her to stay at eye level.

"Oh, God, not five minutes ago. She… she… jumped outta a window."

Helen's eyes narrowed instantly, looking again to Tesla, whose expression was an exact mirror.

"From her room?" he asked.

"Yes." She whispered, looking at him for the first time since she came in.

"Florie… wasn't it?" Helen managed to dredge the name from her memory, and received a nod in reply. "Can you watch after Miss Marino, Florie?" she asked gently but firmly, "Stay by her side, and if anything changes – heart rate, breathing, fever, convulsions: you come find us immediately."

Florie's brown eyes met her, a bolt of determination cutting through the panic. "Sure." She managed nervously.

"Thank you."

They both stood straight, Florie heading for the bedroom, Magnus catching Tesla's eye and indicating that they were moving out. "We'll be in the building or just outside Florie, unless we tell you otherwise."

"Yes ma'm."

They headed out into the corridor in almost perfect synch, Magnus leading the way ever so slightly.

"Another bite?" Tesla surmised as they walked speedily towards Mrs Cabot's suite.

"We'll see," Magnus replied grimly, "Mrs Cabot helped me yesterday, when Miss Marino started to convulse."

It was too much of a coincidence.

The door was wide open as they arrived, so they could see that a servant was perched on the sofa, white with shock. The girl's superior was keeping an eye on both employee and hotel guest – a man desperately trying to bite back the overwhelming tears that revealed his heartache. His elbow was resting on the mantelpiece, his head staring into a fire that could do nothing to keep off the chill of the wind blowing through the large window behind him.

Helen turned to Tesla instantly, "Go see the body," she said quietly, "quickly, before anyone else gets there."

He nodded in agreement, promptly turning from the emotional scene to the more empirical task of swooping down twelve floors and assessing the body. To say he was glad to be dodging the weeping bullet was an understatement – the dead weren't going to spend hours pouring their hearts out to his disinterested ears. Helen's bedside manner, on the other hand, was exemplary.

"Excuse me?" she enquired gently, gradually drawing the attention of the crying man whom she had addressed, "_Mr_ Cabot, I presume?"

He sniffled a little but stood straight and addressed her with a modicum of grace, "Yes."

"I just heard… I am very sorry Mr Cabot – I saw her only yesterday, and she was such a great help to me, and the young lady I was assisting."

He looked up at her as she grew bold and approached him, unable to push back the emotion of thinking about his wife's typical kindness. This stranger's sympathy touched his oddly tender heart with an understanding he wouldn't have thought possible, not from someone who'd never really known Marie.

"Thank you." he said, though it whined breathily through his vocal chords.

"What happened?"

0 0 0

It could have been half an hour, or even an hour since they'd gotten here. Magnus couldn't be sure. Speaking with the shaken husband she had soon discovered that, merely moments before taking that fatal leap, Mrs Cabot had received the devastating news that her two year old son in Boston had died. Helen had been about to chalk the incident up to grief, remembering all too well how greatly the death of a child could affect someone, when Tesla had returned, confirming a fresh bite mark on her corpse. The body was being moved by the emergency services, he confirmed, but he'd managed to take a look before they, or the journalists, had arrived. He'd drawn a few funny looks from passers-by though, for trying to look at the lady's legs; that was until they saw the vicious looking wound on her left ankle.

Armed with this, and having gained Mr Cabot's trust, Magnus had requested to take a look at where she had slept. A request which not even the arriving police could obstruct, when Mr Cabot personally insisted she be given the opportunity.

"Why her bedroom?" Tesla asked, eying the door until it closed properly, and sobering from the entertainment of those cops being politely told where to shove their objections.

"I have a theory," Helen mused, her eyes sparking intelligently as she scanned the room, avoiding touching anything just as Watson did. He was always so much faster at this than she was. "That they're being bitten whilst they're asleep, and the toxin takes time to affect them." The bedroom was much like Tesla's, Magnus noted, dressers and a wardrobe, with a large wooden bed at its heart. It seemed the maids hadn't gotten as far as making it before the hubbub which ended in Mrs Cabot losing her life. Continuing to analyse the walls and skirting boards, she addressed Tesla directly, "What did you find out in the lab yesterday?"

"Well," he started, glad to see that with a problem to solve she seemed more like herself than she had in a while. Casting his own eye over the side of the room she had yet to reach, he answered her question. "I managed to identify the toxin's structure, and confirm that they were both victims of the same species."

She didn't look at him, but still made an impressed expression as she noticed the photo of the Cabots and their children stood on top of a dresser.

"I was working on the antidote but… well, I thought you had better take a look. Medicine is hardly my speciality, after all."

She looked at him then, a slight teasing smile on her lips. The great Nikola Tesla, admitting there _was_ something he couldn't do?! Ha! But he was purposefully avoiding her gaze, robbing her of her victorious moment, and concentrating on whatever might lay behind the wardrobe instead. It didn't matter that he wasn't sure of what, precisely, he was meant to be looking for.

"The good news is," he continued, "that unlike _Mr Doe_, the girl's blood already has anti-toxins in it, rushing to her rescue. Clearly her immune system is responding."

"Hmmm," Magnus agreed distantly, "if she gets through this she'll probably provide us with the key." Then she sighed, "The creature would've had to have gotten in here somehow…"

Tesla opened up the wardrobe, looking inside, "If it did, wouldn't the husband be affected too?" He posited, looking over to Magnus thoughtfully, "This is a one bedroomed suite, right? And he claims to have no bites on his own body."

Then, whilst looking up at the cornices around the ceiling, Helen squinted at something. The vent on the wall, no bigger than a large brick really, but loose from its usual position – something James would've noticed almost instantly. "Not necessarily…" she pointed to the bedside tables: one clear of all but a clock, on the right of the bed, the other, nearest the vent, sporting a book. A collection of Oscar Wilde to be precise. "Not if Mrs Cabot was sleeping nearest to the vent."

Taking in this hypothesis Tesla, arms crossed against his chest with interest, continued to extrapolate, "So… presuming the creature was spooked - defensive, as the bite suggests…"

"It might've only lashed out at the nearest object."

They looked at each other meaningfully, knowing that whatever was crawling in the ventilation had free movement through the entire building. Even with that worrying thought, and time suddenly of the element, neither of them could quite overcome the glint of excitement in anticipation of a discovery about to be made.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ …For Science!

I have _no idea_ whether the Waldorf-Astoria had a ventilation system but I'm gonna presume they did, as vents are mentioned in Sherlock Holmes stories, and this _is_ a hotel.

**Gunney**: Thank you for your kind reviews! Three of them, I was all giddy; it's Tesla's favourite number. XD I'm really glad you enjoyed them; I am quite literally addicted to all the historical Easter-eggs, as it were, in the Sanctuary series and absolutely LOVE throwing them into my fics for people such as your good self to find.

In fact so long as I keep hearing from you folks, I'm gonna keep writin' Tesla and Helen history fics! Well, I mean, I've got ideas for at least three other stories about this length… and let's just say I have every intention of showing just how far their relationship before WW2 really went ;) All in good time my friends, all in good time. Frankly, the thought of turning my hand to _Vienna in Springtime_ is what's flying me through this one – so watch this space!

Also, the Tesla chapter went up in my Griffin one-shots under: The Invisible Man (yeah original I know), with cameo from Katharine Johnson. Oooooh. Until next time.


	12. Chapter 12 - The Rhumb Line

Standing atop a chair from the corner of the room, an angle which afforded Tesla an… interesting view, Magnus gradually worked the vent free and passed it to him.

"Do you have a light?" she asked, realising just how dark it was down this deep, metallic hole.

Nikola glanced around hoping to find a candle or something, to no avail. Sighing a little dramatically he removed another light bulb, and stepped up to join her on the wooden chair.

"Nikola!" if she sounded panicked it was because she could feel the chair give just a fraction. She grabbed his shoulder, instantly giving at him a remonstrating look that made it clear she did not approve.

He merely stared back, a smirk tucked away in his otherwise practical, neutral expression. "It's fine Helen," To say he wasn't enjoying being shoulder to shoulder with her would've been a lie. Presenting the light bulb he made it flicker to life, and they both settled to assess the inside of the vent. "At this rate I'm going to become your _personal lamp_," he chided dryly, though he didn't sound half as insulted by the prospect as she would've expected.

"Well, it does come in handy."

"Mmhmm," he looked at her, as she gamely attempted to offer some consolation to soften the somewhat derogatory observation with a smile, "not just _any_ old parlour trick huh?"

"Oh I don't know," she started softly, beginning to turn from that oddly intimate moment back to the problem at hand, "it's still redundant when someone actually remembers to bring a lamp."

Nikola stared into the mid-distance, a little put out, as she craned her neck towards him in order to get a better look.

"Whatever tore at the cover's left scratch marks behind…" she slipped a small, dextrous hand to feel the floor of it and noted the depths of the grooves nearest the opening. Whatever it was wasn't living in this section, the entire run of piping was clear – except from the damage marks and whatever Helen had just accidentally shoved her fingers into. Retracting and looking at the horrible, fibrous mess, she realised it looked rather a lot like owl pellets; the hacked up remains of fur, bone, and other indigestible objects from something's lunch. There were beetle carcasses too, further down in the dust. Picking up the pellet as evidence she pulled it out of the little tunnel and Nikola instantly pulled back to avoid it going anywhere near his face.

"Eugh…" the repugnance was clear in his expression, "dinner?"

"I think so. I wouldn't expect any regular indoor-dwelling pests to produce pellets on this scale. Maybe we can figure out a lure, or make sure it's not acting out of sorts because of its food source. Either way, this will provide us with valuable information."

She had that brilliant look of inspiration on her – entirely at odds with the disgusting heap of leftovers lodged between the tips of her fingers. It illuminated her eyes with the spark of something new and extraordinary, a problem that needed to be solved, a quest to unravel the mystery. Above all else it made her smile glow. Tesla's brilliant grin was somehow dim in comparison – only Dr Helen Magnus could be _this_ thrilled by the regurgitated remains of something's dinner.

0 0 0

They probably should have looked into this earlier, Magnus thought to herself as they approached the reception desk. It was high time they found out the identity of the first victim, and if there was any chance of checking his rooms, they might just find the evidence to prove they were on the right track.

"Good morning," she smiled politely, heaping on the patented Magnus charm, "I was wondering whether you might be able to help me?"

The man at the desk stared at her a second, already on guard, "Of course ma'm, how may I be of assistance?"

"Two days ago there was a terrible accident on the road just in front of the hotel." He grimaced at the mention of it, but Helen carried on reassuringly, "I wondered whether you might tell me the identity of the man who lost his life – I wished to offer my condolences to his family."

The receptionist dragged his gaze from the lady for a moment, flicking to Mr Tesla and back, wondering why, precisely, they had chosen to concern themselves with that particular debacle on their doorstep. The hotel had narrowly avoided becoming front page news, and why now, when that lady on the twelfth floor had jumped out of her window not an hour earlier?

"That was Mr Kent, I believe ma'm," he answered nonetheless.

"Was he and his family staying here?" She tried to ask guilelessly.

He hesitated in replying, overtly suspicious now that her question regarded the hotel directly.

Sensing the man's prolonged reluctance might form into an outright objection, Tesla flashed a less than friendly smile in his direction, "Or…" he spread the tips of his fingers across the top of the desk, "we _could_ just go and ask the journalists at the bar… see if they know."

"No, no," the receptionist sprang back immediately, visions of malicious headlines flying through his head whilst attempting to fake an awkward grin, "it's, not a problem." He cleared his throat, "Mr _William_ Kent was booked with us for the duration of, of the enquiry. His brother perished on the Titanic… he had taken a long term suite with us. Just him. Never mentioned a family."

Helen surreptitiously gave Nikola a censorious look for purposefully intimidating the man… and managing to get the information out of him before her. Their eyes met, lingering slightly, communicating wordlessly. That sly irrepressible smirk on his face – Helen could only shake her head incredulously. _Any excuse_, she thought to herself.

"And," she managed to shift her attention back to the more malleable employee, "has anyone taken up his rooms?"

"No... no ma'm." The receptionist looked slightly desperate at the determined expressions now staring back. He just knew he wasn't going to like the next question, not one little bit.

0 0 0

After a little… negotiation Magnus and Tesla were granted access to Mr Kent's old rooms, as well as those of Miss Marino who, like many of the hotel servants were still housed on site. The former had revealed the same tell-tale damage to the vent grate in the bedroom, scratches and remains – though disappointingly, no beastie. Miss Marino's room was much the same story.

Taking off their shoes they perched upon the bed to reach the loosened grating and Magnus wrenched it away. Nikola swiftly illuminated the darkness with a hand-held torch he had picked up from his rooms. Upping the strength of the beam with his abilities, they could see right down to the bottom, where a shadowy creature darted into a side-tunnel so fast they might've missed it had the torch been a little weaker.

"Oh yeah, we've got a pest problem."

"Did you see anything distinctive?" Helen asked, aware that even de-vamped his vision was marginally better than hers in the dim light. All she'd managed to discern was its size, being that of a rabbit, its surface being dark and skin-like in part.

Nikola shrugged, "It was kinda rodent-y." He replied, pulling a face at her which clearly indicated his distaste for the idea of it running around between the rooms… his rooms. He shuddered inwardly at the thought.

"Well," She sighed, eying up the scratch marks and remains littering the tunnel. These ones were almost as fresh as the ones in Mrs Cabot's vent, and still slightly sticky with digestive fluid, "it headed left… whatever it was."

"Back towards the north of the building."

"Right." She looked at him, still trying to stir up her memory banks into providing some useful information and coming up a blank. "I wish we had the library right now. Or my journal…" her voice went softer at the thought of that missing item from her Titanic itinerary.

"London isn't infested with vent-dwelling rodents possessing a psychosis-inducing bite?"

"Not so much, no," she replied distractedly.

"Huh."

"Though James may still be able to help us with this."

He raised an eyebrow, all ears.

"Would you mind sending a message to him? Give him all we've got so far and he might be able to find some reference to it, or a likely candidate at the very least. He knows the library practically inside out… almost better than my father ever did."

Tesla paused for the briefest moment; the length of a long blink to assess the tone of her voice for any hint that the mention of Gregory had unsettled Magnus. He knew her father's disappearance weighed heavily on her. Even now he cast a long shadow, and she felt more than responsible for his legacy, pressures which in light of the last week might open up a whole world of anxieties. To his relief what Nikola found did not merit any real concern, and before you knew it she was explaining her part in this plan, happily collecting up pellets into an empty sugar bowl.

"I, meanwhile, shall contact Mrs Marino; ask her to watch over her daughter so we can hunt down these little creatures. We can't expect Miss Florie to spend all day caring for her. She has her own work to be getting on with after all. When you get back, we'll need the architectural map of the building… I dare say if you pull a few strings with the Astors…"

"Aha, architectural map – got it." He waved off, stepping down from the bed and offering her a hand in order to follow him. "I'm sure I'll figure it out."

Magnus rolled her eyes a little at the gallantry. Though it was only politeness his ironic smile was more than testing her belief in the honesty of its origins.

"Good," She smiled coyly, brushing down her skirts matter-of-factly, "Just don't spend _all day_ doing so."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Eh sorry folks this chapters a bit here there and everywhere, and tbh I'm not sure how well it works. I hit the trough of enthusiasm… what with Christmas coming up and work, and life and stuff! : ) I guess it's also a sign that I might've over watched Sanctuary just a little bit and may need some other obsession to recharge my batteries for a while – not with fanfic, just in, how I spend my spare time.

Well, anyways, as always let me know (honestly, LET ME KNOW) if you think anything they say/do sounds/feels un-Tesla/Magnus like… or if I'm layering the introspection too thick. : ) Sometimes it happens.

Next time Helen and Nikola go Beastie hunting! Yay!

On a historical accuracy note: yes torches/flashlights existed, and come on, Tesla would totally have built his own!


	13. Chapter 13 - Les Poissons

Waiting patiently for Mrs Marino to arrive, Magnus had spent her time concocting what she hoped would act as a sedative, from the few chemicals in her medicine bag. The plan was to shoot the darts she'd cut from the kindling down a tube, pea-shooter style, as they had when she and Nigel had gone hunting for escaped Mollox on the coast of Mozambique. Whether or not they would actually pierce this creature's hide let alone have any effect remained to be seen, but it was worth trying, and it was a damn site better use of her time.

When Tesla returned he remembered the map, rolling it out on the only available surface – which managed to be the floor. She'd eyed him disparagingly for forcing her to bend on hands and knees when his invention was taking up a perfectly serviceable table, but Nikola merely smirked in reply and not a word was said.

They assessed the corridors and pipes, vents and wirings marked on the expansive document, working out the comparative locations of the various rooms. Chances were the creature was nesting not too far from all three.

"So if we start from here," she pointed to the mid-point, "and work out to a radius of, maybe 30 yards?"

He nodded, narrowed eyes committing the lay of the land to photographic memory, "That sounds like a plan."

What had not been part of the plan was chasing the sound of clawed feet as they dashed round corners, desperately avoiding the sudden flashes of light from Tesla's torch. Three times they thought they had them, twice she'd managed to glimpse at its piggish nostrils, and oddly bent limbs before the beady eyes and furred mane squealed in annoyance, and squirreled back into the dark. It seemed unlikely there was only one of them here, and clearly they were somewhat nocturnal by preference.

"This doesn't make any sense." She muttered on the fourth of these occasions.

Nikola was clearly on the same page, gazing thoughtfully down the hole and plotting, as he had since they'd started, the direction the little squirt, or squirts, were taking though the man-made maze. He glanced back to Magnus, just as irked by their persistent dodging, "Unless it's just one of them gone mad." He said, "Every species has its psychopaths Helen."

She did her best to ignore the wide smirk and concentrate on the problem. Each observation had given her nothing but a fresh set of questions: their temerity, for instance. After the vicious way they had gotten through the grates and attacked presumably _sleeping_ victims? Why were they now so… cowed? The answers might've been in the lab, where a microscopic analysis of the samples she'd collected would undoubtedly shed new light. With such a dangerous bite, however, they couldn't leave these abnormals roaming free. Capturing them, containment, _had_ to take precedence, before anyone else got hurt.

"The space is so… awkward," she sighed. "What we need is some way of trapping them."

They stood in silence for a moment, both pondering: Tesla with a single digit pressed against his lips, Magnus staring into a mid-distance that wasn't really there at all.

"I've got an idea."

She watched him spring into action, leaving to search his suite for the precise item he was looking for.

"Nikola?" Was she supposed to just wait here like a lemon?

"I'll be back in a minute!" he called back from the corridor outside.

Magnus threw her hands to the side with a sigh, turning on the spot in exasperation and hoping to God that whoever was meant to be using this suite didn't turn up and start asking how she'd gotten in here.

When he returned, after a long five minutes, he was brandishing a wooden box, almost the same width and depth as the vent opening but taller. He waggled it in front of her as though it were a top hat in a magic show. "One state of the art trap," he said by way of explanation.

Her lips quirked into a gentle, thoughtful smile, laying her hands on the simple solution and feeling the rough texture of what had clearly once been used for packaging. It sat suspended between the two of them before Nikola actually released it into her care.

Simple enough… find some food, place it in the box, wait until one of the blighters went inside, and slide on the lid. Bang on cue Tesla raised his other hand and the missing lid for her inspection, and she nodded. "Food. They seem to be fond of cockroaches… and I think I might've spotted some pigeon bones in there."

Tesla rested a hand on his hip, chagrined by the idea, "And what have the pigeons ever done to you?"

She grinned, squinting as though it would help her see into his brain and ascertain how serious he was being. To be honest she was a little surprised at his championing of rats with wings, as Nigel preferred to call them, "You're right," she conceded slowly, "cockroaches are easier to catch."

His disgust at the thought was evident, "Ugh, enjoy."

"_Nikola_…" half-way through the room he dragged to a halt and turned back to her, "I can't very well hold the box _and_ slide on the lid now can I?"

He grimaced at her practical tone, knowing precisely what was coming next.

"And what exactly are you going to achieve in the fifteen minutes it will take us to locate New York's most prevalent pest?"

"Inspiration can strike at any time Helen."

She merely looked at him.

How did she manage to be so perfectly charming, so practically alluring, whilst figuratively twisting his arm? It just wasn't fair. "Fine!" he sighed dramatically, apparently he was incapable of denying her much of anything these days, even when she was practically laughing at him, "But after all this," She started to beam at him, "you-"

"I will be in your debt," she interrupted with an ironic bow of her head.

He shook his head, very certain that he'd be holding her to that promise.

0 0 0

"My arm's going numb," Tesla complained in a whisper, as he held the box above his head at the height of the vent opening. The insects were scratching around on the wood, trying to burrow through, and the sound was unnerving to say the least. He kept imagining the creatures getting through and dropping onto his head. It was enough to make his skin crawl.

Perched on a chair, Helen was keeping an ear out, closer to the opening. "Just a little longer then we'll swap…" her face pinched in expectation, "shh," Tesla turned his head slowly in her direction, to point out he hadn't actually said anything more, or intended to, but she had the wide eyes of someone about to achieve their aim. Then he heard it, the metallic clunk of claw against metal, like a rat or mouse only heavier, larger, and spread over a wider area on thinner points.

Raising up the lid in readiness she placed a hand lightly on the wooden box, feeling the thud of its weight as it crept inside. They acted in unison: Nikola quickly tipping the box, so that the creature lost its balance and slipped – Helen sliding the wooden lid into place and trapping it inside. They both smiled in triumph, before they'd even looked at each other.

"Well that went smoothly," Tesla proclaimed even as the creature mewed and pawed lamely at the timber.

It started shifting inside its cage. The thump of flesh and bone, the clatter of claws half-heartedly glancing along the hull – it sounded like the hapless symphony of flotsam and jetsam, lapping on the cold sea against the painted underside of a lifeboat. The exact same sound as the hardened body, still clinging to the panelling with a life-preserver uselessly wrapped around her body, hitting the searching lifeboat unexpectedly in the dark. The torch light threw the natural crystals in her long auburn hair into prisms, briefly, against her cold dead flesh, and all the while Helen shivered. Shivered as though her bones would shake themselves apart from her muscles in the oversized coat she'd been offered, in dry clothes that weren't her own, sharing body warmth with the kind stranger who had rescued her body from exposure to the harsh, wintry elements.

Tesla looked at the wooden box with growing concern at the rapidly increasing strength of the creature's attempts of escape, the violent hissing that had started – the ripping of wood. It was going completely berserk. He glanced at Helen, recognising that distant, far-off look again… as if she wasn't here, but _there_.

The animal was really going for it now, screeching and making the box jolt in Nikola's usually steady grip.

"What did you do?" he sighed.

As soon as she'd recognised the comment she glared at him complainingly, "What did _I_ do? You're the one holding the box!"

"Hey don't try and pin this one on me," he managed, unaware of the hole currently being torn out of its corner, his attention fixed on her unusually stung-looking scowl. He'd only been kidding her, but she sure wasn't acting like he had. "How was _I_ to know the little demon's claustropho-"

"Nikola!" Helen sprang at the sight of the creature, snarling and vicious looking, freeing itself from the box with its fangs bared and clawed feet clutching angrily against the surface. Magnus wouldn't have been all that surprised if its eyes had actually gone black and its claws extended – it looked as ferocious as blood-hungry vampire.

In his surprise at her panic, or so he would later claim, Tesla dropped the box, practically throwing the little terror on his feet in the process. Half-flapping its bat-like wings, the oddly rat-shaped, cat-faced abnormal, hobbled on its crutch-like limbs faster than one might've thought it could achieve. Gunning straight for Magnus, it crossed the floor like an odd piece of machinery, cams and pistons steaming ahead to bite and snap at her ankles. Instinctively Nikola grabbed for it with unnatural speed, vamping up so that it was his steely claws which caught the maned monster by the scruff, holding it back from its target. It continued to struggle, even as he eyed her with his blood-red gaze, and sharpened teeth.

She automatically swallowed the shot of adrenaline that had nearly choked her, wide eyes recognising full well what had been only narrowly avoided.

"It definitely went after _you_." He said pointedly, his voice reverberating with its vampire undertones as he fought to keep the vitriolic creature firmly in his grasp.

Magnus threw him an unimpressed look, frowning instantly at the insinuation that it was her fault. Her mouth twisted with the beginnings of a complaint when a scuttling sound in the vents stilled them both. It built quickly, one, two, three… rattling loudly against the metal as if in a hurry, like a cavalry charge. They looked to each other with silent concern; the creature in Tesla's clutches squarking urgently, with a scream half-way between nails on a chalkboard and a yowling cat. There was no way they could handle another one of these right now, at this minute, let alone an incoming hoard.

They had to silence the distress signal – _immediately_. She ran for the side table and the unused darts, the clipped sound of their advance entering the tunnel that opened out into their location. It was too close. Even as Helen turned, sedative in hand, it was too close. Nikola zapped it, low-level charge lighting through its curious body and momentarily shorting out its synapses, stunning it into an unconscious calm.

She couldn't say she entirely approved of his method. If it hadn't have been for the threat it posed if it suddenly woke up she would've checked the poor thing hadn't had a heart attack, or lost brain function, immediately. Who knew what its physiology could and couldn't handle?! She didn't waste her breath, however, in re-treading what was old ground as far as Tesla was concerned. He would, undoubtedly, point to the fact that not only had the horrendous squealing stopped, but so too had the clamouring of its clan-mates' approach.

"You're welcome," Tesla drawled, belatedly noting her disapproval as she hurriedly picked her way back to the vent, and took up the torch. He straightened himself out, losing his vampiric appearance, "Don't worry – despite my best efforts the runt's still got a pulse."

"Well _good_." Helen posited archly, before concerning herself with what might still be down the tunnel.

Three of the creatures had hesitated, half-way down, and were now sniffing about the walls for the scent of their lost fellow. As she flashed the beam on them they yelped helplessly, dashing away to hide… timid and unsure again, completely lacking in direction.

She turned to look at him from her perch, somewhat mystified, which was enough to make even Tesla concerned. "They… ran off."

His eyes narrowed in thought, trailing to the hideous amalgamation of night-time creatures that was currently dangling from his hold. Perhaps she really had been the one to set them off.

**Author's Note**: yeah the dead woman Magnus remembers is totally Rose from Titanic! Ha! 'Cause we all know she _should_ have died. Hopefully I'll be updating this more frequently in the coming weeks because I'm very keen to get on with the next one! Anyone feeling deprived of Teslen-y smut-time please to check out my 12 Days of Christmas. Think of it as my Christmas present to you, lovely readers.


	14. Chapter 14 - The Lighthouse

The bedroom door clicked quietly shut behind her, the quiet of the room interrupted only by the hiss of the fire, and the ever-present hum of the electrics. Nikola remained exactly where he was, lounging in the chair with a glass of wine in his hand, shifting only his eyes to confirm his suppositions. She looked preoccupied, thoughtful, her hands smoothing across the corseted planes of her stomach to clasp each other primly in the middle – a habit from a much earlier time, when bustles and skirts had confined her movements a good deal more than her clothes did now.

"Miss Marino's doing well."

Tesla had surmised as much from the relief etched on the mother when Magnus had sent her home not five minutes ago.

She crossed the room, noticing he didn't look particularly engaged and wondering briefly whether this was the start of some sullen protest at being dragged into somebody else's uninteresting problems.

"She looks to make a full recovery," her tone became more authoritative as if it might move him to care, "her mother said she'd even spoken with her… which is a relief."

Sitting down on the couch with unladylike heaviness, Helen began to feel the day's exertions catching up with her. Glancing at the time she sighed, surprised to find it was nearly eight already. Almost automatically she turned her gaze to the temporary cage for the abnormal, resting nearer the window, as if the lateness of the hour might've somehow made it more likely to escape. The hotel would probably object to such a use of its decorative porcelain, but it was about the only material they could think of in a pinch which had air holes that the creature might be averse to chewing on. There was the steel cage Tesla had fixed up too, of course, surrounding the jar just in case it got through. A delaying tactic really, as the abnormal had already shown a predilection for gnawing through iron.

As yet, the animal didn't appear to have stirred from its electrically-induced stupor – they'd have to fix up a proper containment if they were planning on adding its neighbours. In fact, she wouldn't mind working that out tonight, after some supper and a nice bath.

Helen was so wrapped up in the thought that she didn't notice the tea pot and cup sat on the table in front of her until Tesla's voice drew her attention.

"You mean I spent all that time working on an antidote we didn't even _need_?"

She smirked coyly, eagerly pouring out the amber liquid he'd provided without even questioning when it had gotten there, "Well… I wouldn't say that." Cup in hand she sat straight in her seat and inhaled the aroma of Earl Grey with warm appreciation, "Better to avoid the twenty-four hours of fever and hysteria if possible, don't you agree?"

He was uncharacteristically unresponsive, clocking her in a manner she was more used to from James – pensive and serious. Something was on his mind again, something he didn't necessarily want to hide from her, but equally had no desire to broach. Helen cleared her throat a little uncomfortably, and he almost snapped back into life, "Definitely," he breathed, and then smiled sarcastically, "much as I just _love_ having sick people to stay."

She took another sip, "You'll have your bed back in no time," she said, setting the cup down.

"Planning on taking up my suggestion to share Dr Magnus? I'm scandalised."

She glanced up at his wide grin, realising only slowly what he was alluding to, and feeling her insides constrict at the insinuation in a not altogether unpleasant way that she promptly tried to ignore. A little flustered she just about managed to put on a haughty glare, "Clearly you don't _share_ very well, and I should think James will have wired me some funds by now. I was actually thinking of finding my own rooms once Miss Marino is well... get out from under your feet."

If she didn't know any better she would've thought the look on his face was one of genuine disappointment. "But you're staying in New York?" He asked, taking a sip of his wine, and looking to her as if she hadn't just peeked behind the off-hand facade.

"I don't know yet," she admitted, suddenly quite desperate to change the topic. Self-consciously she flexed her fingers around the cup, "The abnormal we managed to catch... I think it reacted to some kind of trigger. Not just its situation." She gestured with her free hand as she thought through the hypothesis out loud, "It was practically quaking with fear at first, even when it was cornered, and then, the change in its temperament was too dramatic, the timing of its onset just too delayed to be coincidence."

"Hmm, and when it did go all… Mr Hyde on us, it went for _you_ – even though I was closer, and a more obvious target."

"That could simply be down to the fact that you're a vampire. It might have sensed the difference in our physiology… and made the tactical assumption that I would be the easier target."

"Possible," he conceded, elbow leaning against his chair and two digits resting into his temple as he meditatively swirled the wine in his glass, "but why, then, did its comrades in the ventilation flee from you if you're such a soft, tasty target?" he smiled craftily, "Why didn't the creature instinctively take out the greater threat first?"

Despite the calculating glint in his expression he didn't seem to have an answer to hand. Or maybe he was just waiting for her to finally see what he already could, so he could gloat about how clever he was… again.

"It's not all about you, you know." She reproached with as much good humour as she could muster.

"No," His tone cut through it with the gravity of his reasoning, assessing her meaningfully, "It's about you."

Casting her eyes down she did her best to avoid that penetrating look. Just long enough to grasp the possibility he was presenting her with, to take herself out of the equation for just a moment, and look at the situation more objectively. Would it have gone crazy without her there? Was there anything in those few preceding moments from trapping it, to its escape, where she had provoked it in some way?

Tesla was practically counting the seconds before she looked at him again, with that spark of possibility he so enjoyed to see.

"It might have been reacting to emotions… my emotions, specifically."

He inclined his head, encouraging her to elaborate in the hope she might open up her feelings a little more.

She tucked her head towards her chest, struggling to admit to her deepest darkest suspicions, "They could well possess empathic abilities… be able to sense our state of minds."

He reached over to put his glass down next to the tea pot, and sat upright, closer to her in a way, lips thinly pressed together. "I was thinking it might be a response to chemical stimuli, but you're the xenobiologist."

She looked at him questioningly, wondering what chemical stimuli he was thinking of.

"Fear…" he said by way of explanation, "except it wasn't fear, was it?"

Had she really been so obvious, so transparent?

A victorious, self-assured smirk was slowly, almost subconsciously, creeping into his expression, and she felt an unusually strong urge to smack it right off his face. It was only the sobering thought that, insufferable though his presumption was – he'd been close to the mark, which held her in check. So she considered him instead, curiously, distracted by the fact that he'd been reading her behaviour so closely.

It was beginning to unnerve her. When, exactly, had Nikola Tesla made it onto the list of people who knew her best in the world?

They'd always been friends, and since Oxford, they'd been close, certainly, but frankly she'd always presumed his social ineptitudes stemmed from a distinct inability to _read_ people. Now she was left with the indelible proof that far from being unable to read them he'd just, quite simply, never cared. Logically of course this formed an evidence of sorts that he _did_ care about her. Something which, at the back of her mind, Magnus had always known, and then, as now, wasn't entirely sure what to do with that knowledge.

"No," she responded distantly, "well, not quite I suppose…"

She had that glazed look again.

"A potent memory?"

Her attention sharpened at his remark, though that smirk had evaporated, "Yes," her quiet voice solidified, "quite potent."

He wanted to brush that invisible strand of flaxen hair to one side, along with that desperate, trapped expression, but it was too intimate a thing to even consider. Instead he subtly cleared his throat, and mustered the courage to bring it up again, "Like the nightmares."

This time she didn't glare, didn't snap, didn't close down on him. He'd been concerned about her, that's all. All this time – those surreptitious looks, the times he'd unexpectedly hung around – he'd been keeping an eye on her, from a distance. Quietly trying to ask what was wrong, making sure he was always around. Just in case. Just in case she fell into the darkness clinging to her like a cloud and couldn't find her way back again.

She looked at him, a knot of sadness in her frown, lips crimped by anxiety and pressing together out of desperation. Her eyes encapsulated the weight of grief, releasing themselves from the burden of silence with a plea of yes, _yes, like the nightmares_. But still, she could not utter the words.

0 0 0

The curtains were good enough in the bedroom that when Magnus opened them, and the window for some fresh air, Catherine flinched like a mole pulled from underground.

"Good morning," she smiled softly at the girl, returning to the bedside and taking the girl's wrist to monitor her pulse. "How do you feel Miss Marino?"

Dense, dark eyes considered her briefly, her attention twisting to the open window and the watery light, before returning to her doctor. She swallowed, her throat sore and sticky, her flesh feeling like it had been pummelled all over, "Like death," she rasped thinly.

Helen's smile grew a touch at the girl's spirit, "I can assure you the fact you feel that way is the strongest possible sign to the contrary." The pulse was strong, temperature a little high but good, very good. "Do you feel nauseous at all?"

She thought about it, for a moment, "My head's spinnin' but… no, not really." She watched as Helen left her bedside to pick up a tray of food from the trolley, "So… _you're_ my doctor?"

Magnus nodded as she brought it over, trying her best to ignore whatever expression of disbelief had probably seated itself alongside the enquiry.

"Breakfast," She smiled at her, "We'll see how it goes with the porridge, it might be a bit too much for now, but you need to drink this." She handed her a glass of carrot juice and Catherine scrunched up her nose, her feeble grip causing it to almost slip out of her hand. "Got it," Helen reassured her, making sure that Catherine had a firm take on it with both hands before guiding it to her mouth. Clearly her brain hadn't gone completely unscathed as she was having some trouble coordinating.

Somewhat chastened by the surprise of not being in full control of her muscles, the girl sipped tiredly, resigned to her tonic. She appeared to be pleasantly surprised by the taste, or perhaps she couldn't taste a thing and that was what she liked. Either way, satisfied her patient did not require strong-arming into accepting her medicine, Helen pulled round the chair her mother had used the day before so that she could see her face.

"Catherine," her voice was empathetic, soothing, "we need to talk. This sickness, it's not quite like anything I've ever seen before." That was almost a lie, but she couldn't very well explain what it reminded her of without sounding strange. As it was, the girl was slowly sipping on her drink, looking at her straight, with her nose still in the glass. "What can you remember?"

Licking her chapped lips, Catherine tried to rest the glass on her lap, but Magnus took it away and held it for her, sure that it wouldn't stay upright for long if she didn't. The maid looked her in the eye and sighed, to regulate her dissonant breath – even feeling groggy and fogged Miss Marino knew precisely what she'd been doing before it all went to hell, she couldn't forget.

"I was just taking a tray – room service – to 1204," she explained in a weak Brooklyn accent that sounded quite different from her mother's Italian intonation, before breaking into a mild coughing fit, "they requested to have the evening paper with their meal, like always." Her voice quietened, eyes drooping to the juice still left in the glass, "And I was readin' it instead of payin' attention to where I was going… like always."

Magnus nodded but she seemed reluctant to continue, "Go on," she placed a reassuring hand on hers, "it's alright."

Her face flinched, and instantly Magnus knew the memory was a hard one to recount, "I skipped all the Titanic…" she chocked a little, trying to hold back the emotion and coughing to reassert some control, "that stuff's been in the news for like a week and it ain't been helpin' nobody. So I was reading the bottom half of the paper, you know, and…" she struggled to breathe, "I'm sorry…"

"Shh, it's alright," Magnus comforted, though she found herself inexplicably affected by her reaction, as though it had been her own pain in a mirror, "this can wait until you're stronger." She held out a handkerchief to the girl for a tissue, "Here."

The girl took it, her bleary eyes noting the sad look in the doctor's smile as she stroked her upper arm in a motherly fashion. "Wait," she struggled to regain her voice, and reached for the glass. Helen passed it over, allowing her to take a sip of the fluid to soothe her throat, "It's okay I just… I've not told a soul about this, not my mama, not even my priest and it..." she shuddered, unable to finish her confession but determined to explain.

"If you feel it's relevant Catherine, only if you think this is something you need to say."

She gave the barest nod, "I'm engaged… _was_" she corrected quickly.

Helen's gut veritably lurched at that declaration, so simple, yet irrationally her mind connected it to her own life, her own story.

"I _was_ engaged." Catherine broke down into tears – full, heart-heaving sobs that no teenager should ever have to expel and yet, so very often, did.

"Catherine, breathe evenly," Magnus commanded, concerned that the girl was working herself into hysterics, and that if the venom wasn't quite out of her system she might lapse, "in, and out," the girl started responding, so she stood the glass she'd rescued onto the bedside table, "that's right, good. Thank you. In and out. Good girl." She wanted to hold her close, mother her, but maintained her professional distance by a compromise. Taking both her hands, Helen pressed her thumbs in gentle circles on the tops of them, keeping their eyes locked together, "Deep breaths. It's alright now, it will be alright eventually. Trust me."

Miss Marino stilled at that, noting the undercurrent of experience in that last comment which made her wonder how on earth a prim, old-fashioned lady like this could possibly relate – and yet, she believed her, completely. Almost wordlessly she could tell that here was a woman who _knew_.

"Have some more carrot juice." Magnus insisted, handing her the rest of the glass and picking up the porridge with the intention of feeding her some. Clearly she had recouped a fair amount of strength – even if she was quickly exhausting it – so she had faith that her stomach would be of a robust constitution too.

Quietly Catherine obeyed, searching the doctor's fathomless expression in between sips.

"I'm afraid, there's no delicate way to ask this," she remarked, "but-"

"He died," the girl flinched, turning away from her.

She nodded, preparing the first spoonful, "That was what you read in the paper?" A nod of the girl's head indicated she had hit the nail on the head, "And you went into a state of shock."

"Yeah," She whispered. "Mama says I had a fit, or seizure, I didn't really… I mean I remember falling. I think I heard you."

"Here, eat this." Magnus instructed, feeding her as though she were an infant. Then, as the girl took her breakfast and swallowed it down, Helen managed to think of something other than the horror of losing the one you loved, and came up with something intelligent to ask, "How come you read it before anyone told you?"

She shook her head, clearing her mouth to respond, "No one knew we were together. Franklin, he ain't exactly got a stirlin' reputation in our neighbourhood, and I woulda lost my job in a flash if anyone knew I'd be up and leaving them in six months to start a family, so we kept it quiet." She smiled sadly, "Until he'd earned enough to start his own bus'ness, y'know?" she took in a shaky breath, "If I had known… I'd have told him to leave the damn shop and become a mailman or somethin'."

Helen looked at that pitiful grief etched on her expression, wondering whether she could really have said the same about ditching her dreams of scientific exploration if it had meant saving John. "I'm sorry Catherine. Truly, I am."

She sniffed, "Thanks doc," she coughed again, hesitantly permitting another spoonful, "for everything." She swallowed, "I mean it… you really didn't need to go to all this trouble. Y'could've just packed me off to my room an everythin', or the hospital, but this is… I mean I ain't never slept in a bed so soft-"

"Think nothing of it," Helen insisted with all sincerity, realising that the girl was obviously quite talkative in her natural state and promptly feeding her another spoon at this sign of improving spirits. Letting her amusement show Magnus knew, right then, that having finally admitted this secret, spoken of her loss, Catherine would be alright. She _would_ recover from her heartbreak, she would carry on, and she too would survive.

It would take time, undoubtedly, but Miss Marino was young, far younger than she had been herself – and though it affected her with no less pain, she was adapting, even now, at a far faster rate. It was almost as miraculous a process to witness as the functioning of the body itself, as it overcame the most vicious invaders and reasserted its will to exist. The toxins in her body were being neutralised, one by one, relieving her embattled nervous system and injured brain. No doubt, eventually, time would do the same for the poison of her grief.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Happy New Year everybody! Hope you all had a great holiday, well no need to feel the January blues folks, there's still plenty of fanfic! :) We're starting to get some answers, so hopefully the chapters will start to tumble out of my brain at a faster rate – meaning more updates. I feel fairly sure right now that this one isn't going to get bumped up to an M anytime soon (Sorry guys, but it just doesn't work in my head-cannon!) Still, I hope to smatter you with the occasional smexy one-shot and much more mature themes in _Springtime_… which will follow on from this one. Either way, I hope you are enjoying this story and will stick with it to the end! Please let me know if anything plot-wise sticks out to you as out of character/contrived/over-emphasised as I have no Beta readers. I do it all by my lonesome, with a little help from whoever reviews! : ) Many thanks to everyone faving, reviewing, and following my work – lots of fat-free cookies for yooouu! (What? I don't want anyone to start breaking New Year's Resolutions already!)

Special mention to **DaraSerian** whose review prompted me to get my ass in gear and post this up! Thank you for your reviews they really made me happy :)

And oooh maan Brooklyn accents are really hard for me to keep in my mind's ear!

Next time: A message from London, Tesla's inventions, and Magnus' death glare.


	15. Chapter 15 - Beyond the Shore

Helen and Nikola happened, by chance, to enter the living room at exactly the same time. She had left Miss Marino to get some more rest; he had come in bearing a large box wrapped in brown paper. Magnus looked across at him interestedly, amused not only by his timing, but the irritation on his face.

"There's never a bell boy when you actually need one," he groused, abandoning the large box where they'd laid out the maps before, and taking off his gloves.

Noticing that Magnus had already approached his little present to inspect it, he eyed her with a sardonic quirk of his lips, excited by the prospect of showing her his work.

"What is it?" She asked, even though she had some idea, resting her hand on the side of the cuboid that stood as high as her knees.

The quirk became an outright grin, "The very definition of small to mid-sized abnormal containment." He started taking off his coat, "Go ahead, open it up."

Helen hesitated only a moment, "Did you spend the whole night in your lab?" she asked, starting to peel back the easily punctured wrapping.

Tesla didn't answer, merely watched with pleasure, as her agile fingers tore the packaging apart and revealed the contraption beneath. She was obviously impressed, her eyes widening with disbelief, then frowning as she inspected the mechanism to ascertain how it worked.

It was essentially a glass box, like a lantern, and particularly simple – each pane of glass fixed within a metal frame, one of which formed a hinged door. The genius of the design, however, was the outer coating around all the metal components. Clearly it was insulation, designed to protect both handlers and the creatures inside from what was meant to conduct an electrical current: a deterrent to anything trying to nibble its way through the box's weaker points. A short sharp shock which would certainly make any creature think twice before trying it again. She looked up to him, about to convey her appreciation, but he beat her to it.

"Reinforced glass," he pointed to it with one long finger, "besides which it's so heavy I'd be surprised if the little devil spawn managed to create enough force and tip it over."

Helen tried picking it up and could feel, instantly, that no human being was going to be carrying this thing alone. It would probably take four of them once the creatures were inside. Presuming of course they weren't actually infested with them – and if they had the breeding rate of rats they could well be, "Good Lord, I take it we'll have to use the temporary measure to get them in here then."

He looked a little sheepish at that, as if he'd already realised that in his flurry of industrious enthusiasm he'd overlooked that point of functionality. "Yeah, well," he shrugged, "I did this in, what," he looked to her airily, "ten hours?"

Not for the first time Magnus found herself exceedingly jealous of his ability to go without sleep when he wanted or needed to. He couldn't go without it forever, and even _he_ grew tired eventually, but his vampire physiology managed to hold the usual fatigue at bay for quite some time when circumstances allowed. Of course, he'd never been much of a sleeper anyway, which probably helped.

He was giving her his biggest 'tell me I'm a genius' grin, and she couldn't help but broadly return that smile. "Good work Nikola."

His expression dropped at her standard, almost monarchical statement of approval, eying her dryly; "_Good work_?"

She chuckled, nearly giggled, for what must have been the first time since the collision with the ice berg. "It'll do very nicely," he looked about to complain so she stepped over, rested a hand gently on his lower arm – which made him freeze instantly – and pecked him on the cheek. "Thank you."

It was almost the best thank you he could have imagined. Almost; let no one say Nikola Tesla lacked imagination. Brimming with pride he could hear the blood in his own ears, the world shrinking down to her pursed smile – the one she gave when she knew she shouldn't be encouraging him. He wanted to kiss her, God only knew how much. Maybe she could tell, because she blushed, ever so slightly, eyes darting to the box and studiously avoiding his gaze.

Hope had distracted him long enough that the silence became noticeable, and slightly awkward. Only slowly did he regain command of his cognitive faculties, remembering the envelope in his inside pocket. Clearing his throat a little, he straightened out, "That reminds me," he plucked it from his jacket, showing it to her with a flourish.

She turned alertly to him the instant he spoke, eyes zeroing in on the communication.

"_This_ just arrived."

Taking it gently from where it was pinioned like a card between his fingers she quickly opened the telegram out.

London GB. APR. 23-12.

DR HELEN MAGNUS.

WALDORF-ASTORIA HOTEL, NEW YORK.

EXTREMELY GLAD TO HEAR YOU ARE SAFE. RECEIVED MESSAGES. SOUNDS LIKE EUROPEAN SPECIES LAPILLUS DIABOLUS. COMMONLY MISTAKEN FOR GARGOYLES. SPIRES AND TOWERS FORM NATURAL NESTING SITES. BELLS SAID TO WAKE THEM FROM ETERNAL SLEEP CAUSING VISCIOUS ATTACKS. REGULAR RINGING KEEPS THEM AT BAY. CONCLUDE CERTAIN FREQUENCIES CAUSE ACUTE PAIN TO INNER EAR AND AUDITORY NERVE. BE CAREFUL. OUR REGARDS TO TESLA. 323 458 1204 WAITING FOR YOU. COME HOME SOON. WATSON.

735AM

Having read the note aloud she regarded Nikola pensively.

"European species?" his eyes were narrowed and looking at the message from over her shoulder, "How did they get _here_?"

Magnus didn't answer, feeding this information to their former theories. The species – whether wilfully or no – immigrates, then they might've hibernated, instinctively, in the vents as high as they could go. A noise or vibration at just the right pitch wakes them… it would certainly explain why there was no history of this happening in the Astoria before.

Even though their captive Lapillus had appeared to react very strongly to her own emotions, the attacks themselves, the bites, didn't necessarily correlate to the patient's distress. That had come afterwards. She frowned at the paper in her hand, "I was just speaking with Miss Marino," she glanced back to him as he stepped back out of her space, "perhaps a chemical reaction is involved but not in the way you suggested. There's no measurable time-frame for the bite to take effect," she explained, "but there is one correlating factor. All of them had experienced intense emotional turmoil moments before their reaction to the toxin: Mr Kent was hearing graphic accounts of what his brother had encountered moments before his death, Miss Marino had just discovered her fiancé was brutally murdered, and Mrs Cabot had just learned of her child's death."

"So the emotion might've produced a chemical in their blood-"

She started to nod, "Or just increase the concentration of one already present, until it reacted negatively with the toxin."

He thought about it for a moment, it made sense with the samples in the lab but… "That still doesn't explain why Snapillus Diabolus over there went after _you_ last night." He cocked an interested eyebrow, with a slow insinuating smile, "Unless you're emitting some kind of high-resonating frequency I don't know about?"

Magnus knew he wasn't being particularly serious, as usual, but even so she was taken a little off guard by the flirty tone – something which was clearly becoming a bit of a theme. She hesitated, exasperated slightly by the fact that he amused her, trying not to encourage him lest things become… peculiar. Quite what had gotten into him since London she didn't know, and wasn't sure it would be wise to ask.

"They could be sensitive to both: auditory and emotional frequencies. A burst of extreme negative emotion could potentially have the same effect as the bells."

"Well, we could test _that_ theory."

"How?" she looked at him, somewhat relieved to see the return of her old familiar lab partner, focused more on the intellectual conundrum than her pink lips.

"A short, concentrated pulse of electricity should give off the same frequency as a set of bells" he eyed her pointedly, hand eloquently accompanying his plan with a simple gesture, "just shove the little terror in the cage and observe."

Magnus could already think of a few reasons this might not be such a brilliant move, top of the list though – "And you just happen to have a contraption that can generate such a pulse, lying around the apartment, or…?"

He grinned instantly and she knew there'd be trouble, "As a matter of fact..." he swung round to the other side of the room, to the table by the window, and pulled off the white sheet over his experiment with a flourish.

Helen's face dropped, like the penny in her head, as she realised what Tesla had been experimenting with.

Misreading Magnus' speechlessness completely, even as her eyes widened, Nikola began explaining the item he'd been so curiously quiet over before. "It's like the click of lightening as it strikes," he explained excitedly, "a change in the electromagnetic field causes a discharge, a vibration. I've been working on a way to replicate it, by creating controlled pulses of electricity that charge and discharge – this is the generator… or it will be." He shrugged, slowly realising that Magnus wasn't beaming with her usual expression of amazement at his genius and slightly put out, "It's not quite finished."

"You haven't been testing it in here, have you?"

He just explained to her that he was replicating the strongest forces of nature and she was getting all domestic on him? "It's not going to bring the hotel down around us Helen," which, after literally shaking the earth with one experiment, was a very likely concern she might legitimately hold, "it can only emit a controlled electric pulse with as much energy as I… oh…" he glanced at the meaningful glare she was levelling at him, realising what she meant – he'd woken them up. He grinned awkwardly, "yeah, kinda."

"**Nikola**!"

He flinched, "Okay, before we start throwing around wild accusations-"

"Or accurate ones."

Unamused, he stared pointedly at her, hand still raised in defence, "Let's do the test and make sure that it did actually have an effect on them."

"Or _not_," she griped, suddenly angry at herself for having pecked him on the cheek earlier, "Nikola, if what Watson's told us is true it will cause it _severe_ pain."

"Momentarily."

"_**Severe**_ **pain**…I'm not going to wilfully subject it to what might potentially amount to torture, unless there's absolutely _no_ other option."

He didn't look convinced, turning under her glare with a harassed and slightly petulant sigh, a hand sweeping back his jacket to rest on his hip.

"If their nest adjoins this room I think we can be fairly confident how it was they've been disturbed – _don't you_? Blasting its ears will not be at all necessary."

"Spoil sport," he sulked, daring her to snap at him and at the same time, starting to feel the barest pangs of culpability under her wilful, commanding glower.

0 0 0

The transfer of the first inmate to Nikola's containment unit went surprisingly smoothly, a slight tip of the jar and the little gremlin slid in without much complaint. It almost managed to be cute, sniffing meekly at its new surroundings and pouncing on the bait they'd left in for food. The serving staff were no doubt used to Mr Tesla's unusual requests, but Helen had to admit they were probably scratching their heads at this one; wondering what their eccentric guest planned to do with a jar full of beetles and worms.

She watched the creature closely, ascertaining whether it had suffered any damage in its capture, and noting its behaviour. Meanwhile, Nikola hooked up the box to the mains with a temporary measure which he would, undoubtedly, end up paying for in damages whenever he eventually vacated. Friend of the family or no, the Astors weren't going to be pleased about him ripping holes in their walls with those sharp vampire claws.

By eleven they had ascertained that the vents nearest their patient were clear, and had moved onto the one in the sitting area, nearest his invention. Sure enough, they found no fewer than three Lapillus Diaboli, shrinking beneath loose scraps of weeks-old newspaper and attempting to cover themselves in piles of feathers. Promptly moving the light away so as not to alarm them, Magnus immediately directed an irked and emphatic glare down at Nikola. He barely kept eye contact, shifting on the spot to the right of the chair, arms crossed and full of antsy energy. Most of it deriving from the fact he was doing his damnedest not to apologise, despite the clear evidence that she'd been right.

"Huh, what a surprise," she deadpanned, leaning down so he was forced to pay attention, "a whole nest of sonically-sensitive abnormals just camped out on your doorstep!"

"No need to be unpleasant Helen," he levelled, before turning to grab the jar from the table.

She reached down the hole and started to lay down a trail of creepy crawlies, "You really just never _think_ about the consequences of your experiments for anybody else, do you? Not ever. Firing out electric pulses in the middle of one of New York's biggest hotels, honestly! Of all the selfish…"

"Yes, of course, because I _knew_ the little runts were stuck in the ventilation system," he groused, preparing to hold it up and catch whatever landed inside.

"It hardly matters Nikola – you had _no idea_ what your experiment was going to do-" he looked about to argue that one but she carried on, "I'm sure you thought you had it worked out to the last equation but obviously reality had other ideas," she gestured at the vent, "and instead of taking the necessary precautions for everyone else's safety you just…" her mouth scrunched up, frustrated by the fact that she knew this little speech was purely for her own benefit. She had never once known Nikola Tesla to place anyone or anything ahead of his own desires – particularly intellectual ones.

He passed her the jar with a straight arm, staring at her in all seriousness and more than ready to hear the end of her chewing him out, "Finished?"

She let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding, and pulled the container out of his hands, "It wouldn't hurt to be a little more considerate to your neighbours is _all_ that I am saying." Honestly, sometimes it felt more like she was dealing with a know-it-all adolescent than a fifty-six year old man.

Gradually one of the creatures started to sniff at the bait, daring to separate itself from the others in order to follow its nose, and its stomach. Another started protesting, like a mother hen warning that the venture was ill-advised, and hardly worth the gain. It was growling a little but nowhere near as rabidly as its friend had been yesterday night.

"Come on," Helen murmured so quietly that had Nikola's senses been normal he might not have heard her.

She prepared the jar with a few extra maggots, so that it looked more appealing than the trail, her hands steady and waiting. Soon enough it fell – trapped inside as she brought the lid down over its head. Glancing, to make sure its disgruntled compatriots weren't any more distressed by its disappearance, she passed the jar to Nikola and let him move it to the larger cage. The sight of them retreating down the pipe, terrified, their beady eyes trembling in the half-light struck her. She couldn't quite take her eyes off of them.

Worried that they'd lose the Diaboli in the warren of tunnels should they bolt, Magnus flashed the torchlight, hoping it would daze and confuse them. Instead the two remaining abnormals whimpered, like the two children keening for their father, suspecting what the adults around them already knew – they would never see him again. That he was sacrificing himself by passing them into the arms of the women on the lifeboat. The memory bolted through Helen as though she were still there, hands shaking as she helped to pass the eldest to a woman with a brown velvet hat and penny-coloured eyes that were wide and glassy, pupils shrunk to panicked dots. As the ship slipped under, as she gave up her chance to escape.

Nikola glanced over as all the creatures started making frenzied and sinister noises, noting the oddly vigorous pace of Helen's heartbeat, the tension in her stance, with concern. He locked up the cage, blanching with realisation that the viperous hiss from the vent was a war cry, and their feet were on the move towards her.

"Helen-"

Before he'd so much as started the obese-looking creature had barrelled to the opening, launching itself at Magnus' face with a savage snarl – spittle hanging from its jaws like the personification of _everything_ she had felt inside. Almost in slow motion she realised what was happening, barely catching the heavy abnormal before it snapped at her, bearing down and trying to free itself with its bat-like arms.

He was already half-way across the floor, augmenting his speed to prevent the other from catching her unawares, "-stop thinking."

Distracted by such an odd assertion she wanted to glance at him, but couldn't risk the creature using it to its advantage. Instead, staring into its suddenly angry expression the cogs started to turn, and its eyes relaxed, the growl dialled down to a snarl, then a sneer, then a grumble – right there, in her hands. If it hadn't have been trying to bite off her face a second ago she might've considered it downright adorable.

Certain that its pack-mate had no intention of following the fat one out, Nikola took the abnormal out of her hands, staring pointedly at her as he did so and subconsciously rubbing the creature's fur behind its ears. Magnus wondered briefly whether he realised he was doing that… it made her smirk, and the little thing was practically purring as he reluctantly abandoned the point he was about to make for the practicality of getting the podgy one secure.

"Quite the defence mechanism," she managed to keep her voice neutral, devoid of the exhilarating rush she'd felt as danger had approached.

Not that she was fooling Tesla, who spared a momentary glance at her pressed lips and hands, recognising instantly that she was reigning herself in, regaining her cool.

Stepping down from the chair for a moment she attempted to catch her bearings, and ignore the fact that she'd enjoyed the adrenaline kick a little too much. She couldn't really deny it now – her emotional instability was clearly having a negative effect on them. They could sense her pain, and yet reacted against her as their enemy, as though _she_ were the one hurting _them_, as if the overwhelming flurry of fear and grief and panic, were as loud as a chorus of bells to their collective mind. "They must be able to literally _feel_ the distress of their pack. In the wild it probably enables them to overcome their own survival instincts and preserve the group as a whole," she ruminated, stepping closer to watch the specimen as it settled in with the other two quite sociably, "Sharing in each other's distress and simultaneously gaining the strength to react against the cause of it…" Looking a little closer at the newest inmate she wondered whether the – apparently female – creature was reproducing, "…like herd-mentality but on a deeper level…" it was fascinating, she literally couldn't wait to study them and work out exactly how it worked. Were they naturally sensitive to other species as well as their own or was this the result of an illness? Was it simply something they never encountered in their natural habitat?

Having secured the box, Tesla appropriated his handkerchief, feeling the need to wipe down his hands despite managing to avoid its saliva. He swanned over to Magnus' side, until – very aware of the fact that he was waiting for her attention – she finally registered his slightly off-kilter smirk, and obvious pleasure in having gained the unspoken acknowledgement that perhaps he'd been right.

"And… _your_ nightmares set them off," he teased with smug delight, pointing at her with a jeering finger that made her irrationally irked by what was, in the end, only the most likely explanation.

Sadly it fitted the timescale – the survivors and relatives of Titanic passengers clustered together in one place, surrounding the freshly awoken Lapillus Diaboli. All of them feeling their own harrowing distress in the darkest, quietest moments of the night; driving the abnormals into fits of pain-filled rage that made them lash out and bite the nearest living being. A bite filled with venom which, in any other circumstance might remain benign, turned malicious by the increased fear, grief and panic of its victim.

It didn't make Tesla's culpability any less, of course. There must have been significant emotional trauma in the middle of such a metropolis long before the Carpathia docked, and since this had only arisen in the last week his experiment had clearly still had a direct impact on the whole affair. Only now she had to admit, they were both just a little bit responsible.

The death glare she directed only made Nikola grin triumphantly – for once the moral high ground was no longer exclusively hers.

* * *

**Author's note:** yikes this one kicked my butt. Probably all that exposition – too much? Too little? Too confusing? To be honest, having just written it, I'm not in the position to tell. Likelihood is I will loathe the second half of this chapter in the near future. Sigh.

Had great fun looking up telegram formats: the number Watson sends her is for the money but I figured he wouldn't want to announce to all the people handling his message that that's what it was in case someone then tried to steal it.

Also Tesla's basically working on creating EMPs – now, genius though he is, I don't think even Sanctuary Tesla could be 40 years ahead of the game. At this point the phrase electromagnetic pulse wasn't even being used, so my theory? Tesla starts working on this from the point of view of continuing the study of lightening and electromagnetism, and also wanting to create a lightning machine to test aircraft against its effects… and in the process ends up creating what will later be used in EMPs yeeeears ahead of schedule. :) Which means that the Sanctuary probably only gets an EM shield (and thus protection from John) in the 20s at the EARLIEST hmmm… none of which has any relevancy of course!

Big thank you (again) to **DaraSerian** for all the encouragement and to all you folks following and faving! If anyone's feeling the need for some Teslen smut, please do check out Howl to the Moon, which is primarily to blame for the delay with this update.


	16. Chapter 16 - Smoke on the Water

With any luck they'd have the little buggers rounded up within the hour, Tesla thought to himself; before realising it would herald an end to this shared venture of theirs, and likely Magnus' stay at the Waldorf-Astoria, perhaps even New York, with it. The thought was enough to quieten what had been, until then, a slow but steady trickle of acidic quips and outright complaints that only hinted at the extent of his current boredom with the task in hand. Nikola didn't much care for the part of abnormal zoo-keeper, but just the same, it wasn't simply the thought of Helen's waspish anger at being abandoned in rectifying the situation which held him to it. It was the fact that they were together, alone, with no one but each other for company – no Watson, no Griffin, no Johnny… and despite the spectre of tragedy clinging to the corners of her eyes, it felt decidedly _right_.

He never realised how much he missed her, until he remembered it wouldn't last. Not in the days she was absent, not when they were reunited, but always now: when he knew their moment would have its end, that they would each depart, and then, back to reality – months, sometimes even years before chance, or fate, or a simple whim (usually his), brought them together again. Not that it ever felt that long. With Helen, the years just melted meaninglessly away.

Magnus closed the lid on what must be the last of the lapillus diaboli, currently munching its way through the bait in the depths of the jar. It reminded her somewhat of the time her cousin had dropped his kitten into her aunt's priceless Chinese urn and the poor thing had languished until supper when the butler finally became aware of its presence.

The recollection lifted the corners of her mouth wistfully – goodness, it had been a lifetime ago. She glanced to Nikola, wanting to share her thoughts, but his expression stayed her tongue. In the last fifteen minutes or so he'd gone remarkably pensive she'd noticed. A quiet which typically heralded one of three behaviours – a magnificent breakthrough, a spiteful, derisory remark ushering from another bout of depression, or his imminent and abrupt departure. Which was precisely why she'd not breathed a word; his mind was clearly occupied deeply, and she had a hunch that it had nothing to do with this latest, least-favourite hobby. The soft pinch in his expression, the tightened jaw, whatever it was clearly _mattered_ to him and she suspected it wouldn't be anything he'd care to share. Nevertheless, as a friend, she had to at least try.

"You know," he began before she could even open her mouth, breaking the moment and glancing up at her from where he'd previously been staring into the distance, with something of a smile blossoming on his face, "I bet it was some gypsy carnival heading for Cony Island that brought them over…"

"Yes, because what gypsy doesn't have the money to stay in New York's premier hotel?"

"Oh please Helen; they're all con-artists…"

She shook her head lightly in disapproval, stepping down from the vent opening.

"…and besides-"

"You mean if you can con them into letting you get away with not paying for it, so can they?" she teased.

He gave her a look back, the tips of his lips not without a smile, but he didn't seem quite so blasé about her accusations as he would normally and that put her just a little on edge, "Hilarious. You-" Something made him pause, just as she turned away to take the jar to the cage and making her stop, worrying that she'd said something wrong. To her relief he had a look of concentration on his face, and not a look of disapproval, "I can hear one in the vents still."

She sighed in exasperation, "_Another_?"

"I'm afraid so." He turned before she had chance to gauge his tone, jacket dragged to one side by a hand on hip before pulling the chair up against a different vent in the same room.

"I was so sure that would be the last of them!"

Would this day never end! They'd taken a tactical approach, once they'd gathered the ones nearest Miss Marino. Placing some tempting bait in the home-nest, they'd gone about with the help of Miss Florence and one of the boys, blocking the vents at key points to keep the area separate. Then, after sweeping the other floors to make sure – a task Helen had been forced to conduct in a maid's uniform so as not to arouse suspicions, and would likely never hear the end of – they were quite certain that all of them were now trapped here on the twelfth floor. They had seven so far; were there really _eight_ of the nippy miscreants?!

"Clearly it missed the memo," he replied distractedly, peering down and seeing nothing… though hearing a good deal more.

"I'll just put this one away, I'll be back in a minute – _don't_ electrocute it."

Staring into that metallic cuboid structure the broadest smile found its way onto his face. He just couldn't resist. For once he hadn't contrived to spend more time with her and it had all worked out rather nicely.

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"Well that should have blocked off the last of its exits," she asserted, pulling off the protective gloves as she returned to where Tesla was stationed, poised and ready for it to find its way.

"I can see it," he muttered, throwing a little more bait into the end of the vent before promptly wiping his hands in disgust. Helen nearly sniggered at the awkward way he managed to balance the jar under the crook of his arm just for the comfort of hygiene, and maybe she made a sound because his head snapped at her. He was trying to look annoyed at the distraction, but there was a note of curiosity that said he wasn't really as bothered as he was making out. It made her smile as she drew closer, and attempted to ignore the intense spark of interest in his gaze, following her every move.

There was a noisy shifting above her and to the left, inside the mouth of the tunnel, which instantly drew her attention, "Nikola?"

Snapping back to their task he could see the lapillus diabous fumble closer, sniffing timidly, shrewdly one might say, towards the waiting trap. She took Tesla's concentrated silence for a good thing this time; he was focused, his closed lips impatiently wavering with each change of the creature's direction as though willing it to come their way. Slowly but surely it did so, creeping closer, its nose dipped against food so delicious that it didn't smell them, beady eyes ducked down to the floor so that it missed the face peering directly at it.

The diabolus tottered about the edge of the jar, long enough that Magnus breathed and realised she'd been holding off doing so. Indeed, she realised that Tesla was managing not to take one at all, successfully rendering himself completely still as his prey neared. She'd seen the behaviour before, a vampire's instincts at work, and still could not abate the little chill of fear it sent through her to see a friend transform so completely into something so lifeless, and honed to kill, however brief the sensation.

It landed all four clawed extremities onto the china as it made a cautious sweep of the opening, before deciding whether it was wise to jump inside. Immediately Tesla wiggled the container, with the aim of sending it off balance and depriving it of a choice, but the creature was more resourceful than he'd given it credit. It clung on determinedly – too far away now, too disorientated, to jump easily for the vent. Nikola frowned as it confounded his efforts, eyes widening a touch as the bundle of mismatched mammals started scrabbling around on the top of his hands.

With it squealing like a piglet in fright, Nikola made the split-second decision to make a grab for it. In a flash he had let go of the jar and snatched, vamping up slightly as he augmented his speed. "Helen," he had barely uttered her name in those gravelled tones when she saved the falling china from smashing on the floor, glancing up in concern and making sure the animal never left her sight.

Squirming in his grip, head locked in the nook of his thumb and forefinger so its feet could do nothing but scratch palm and air, it was growing more agitated with every passing second. Struggling with decidedly less vigour than the others had displayed under an empathic assault, he kept it trapped easily. Besides, Tesla didn't even have time to accuse her of sending off negative emotions, before it bared open its feline jaw and bit down, hard, puncturing his skin.

He hissed at the dull searing sensation, instinctively shaking the thing off with an annoyed, stressed sigh, glaring as it fell neatly into Helen's waiting jar with a rather comical plop. In her haste to close it the ceramic scraped with a ring, the momentary sound making it complain with a violent yelp which, thankfully, soon descended into contented munching on the bugs it had chanced to find in the darkness.

They glanced at each other across the sealed container with the same look, then the same chuckle of relief, and bright victorious smile.

"Nice catch," he hummed, delighting in her sidelong expression of joy as she steadied the cargo on a nearby surface.

She shrugged at the compliment, smiling at her chance to rile him up, "Might not have needed it if you had been a little more patient." Her playful challenge narrowed into concern at the way he was holding his right hand, splayed, as though it were in pain, "Nikola...?"

He was already trying to hide it from her, "It's nothing Helen, I'm a _vampire_… rem-"

"It's not healing," she interrupted, grabbing his hand with no thought other than to make certain her eyes were not deceiving her, and completely unaware of the fact that this simple, unexpected action had quite literally deprived him of the ability to speak. She took the hasty pulse to be a symptom of the familiar looking bite and nothing more. Looking up at him, her fabulous eyes assessing and commanding at the same time, she only grew more determined, "we must head for the lab – right away."

The meaningful press of her fingers into his palm woke him enough to respond, "I'll be fine," he reclaimed his hand, shrugging her off to reclaim his distance, "just-"

"Oh no Nikola, don't even... I am not letting you take that chance," she asserted, picking up the last of the lapillus diaboli with authority.

"_Helen_," he smirked, "I always knew you cared about me."

She eyed him with annoyance – because of course she did, she was his _friend_ there was no need to be insufferable about it, not to mention… "Don't let it go to your head Nikola, with your physiology there's no telling what havoc your being poisoned might unleash."

He pouted half-heartedly like a kitten deprived of its ball of string, following her lazily as she started taking the weighty package back to their rooms. Bloody hell, she thought, at what point did they become designated _their_ rooms and not _his_? Shaking her head as if it would rid her of that notionally uncomfortable consideration, she tuned in to Nikola's retort and felt her stomach lurch like it did just before a fall, "You mean this isn't some veiled attempt to examine me more closely?"

She hesitated, pausing long enough that he fell into step just behind her, before she realised being that close together would suddenly feel… a little too close. Rallying with an unladylike scoff, Helen trooped on, ignoring him, concentrating on the facts and trying desperately not to think about the tone he'd just taken, let alone what he'd said. Dear lord was she blushing? She absolutely refused to blush because of Nikola bloody Tesla… maybe it was just the poison taking effect – God she hoped so, because she was certainly _not_ imagining him naked.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Pow! And look I even got the tiniest Teslen-y goodness in :D

Well folks, again, apologies for the delay in updates. This one is a shorty (comparatively) and I'm looking forward to writing the next bit. Because Tesla playing patient is just such fun! I may have a Valentine's treat on the way – and also keep your eyes peeled for 1916: a WW1 story which will prelude Springtime in Vienna. I've written the first chapter now so that will be going up in the very near future! Until next time…


	17. Chapter 17 - The Fathoms Below

The light out of the window of her impromptu lab was glistening on every surface at this time of day, a spectacular sight but one she couldn't dwell on. The experiments and analysis Tesla had been conducting on Miss Marino's blood were half left out from the other day, his notes scrawled on the end of her own findings from Mr Kent. She'd immediately instructed him to sit on one of the high chairs, hand where she could see it, and _stay_ there. He didn't protest, at first, so that Magnus wondered whether perhaps it was starting to go to his head already, and picked up the notes in a spurt of constructive panic to figure out how to ascertain the presence of the venom – and destroy it.

"My God Nikola if your handwriting was anymore cryptic you'd be giving da Vinci a run for his money! And he was doing it on purpose."

"Well then," he smirked, unnerving her slightly at what he might be thinking behind it, "perhaps I should read it to you out loud?"

She hesitated, how did he manage to make that sound somehow… devious? Was this a side-effect of the poison on vampires… or was she going crazy? Then she realised he'd presented her with a perfectly logical solution, and threw the notebook across the table in front of him, avoiding his patiently waiting good hand, with a measure of annoyance. His grin only grew, his stare hanging on her momentarily and appreciating the sight of her wound up and stormy looking, before getting down to the useful business of helping out.

Doing her best to ignore him, she checked on the experiments and cultures he'd already prepared, tuning in as he read out the results of his moonlighting in the biological sciences. She found the pattern of his voice oddly reassuring, just like their earlier days in the lab together, the soft inflections of his tone coming through, punctuated by the odd surge of interest or excitement along the way.

Magnus found the research was entirely adequate, though it still needed a little tweaking – he'd missed, for instance, that the formula he'd proposed wouldn't break down the compound quite enough to render the by-products harmless. Not to mention the fact that she now had to take his accelerated metabolism into account.

Every now and then she glanced his way to check he was holding out against it, hoping she was right about her theory as to the trigger for the fits, and knowing every second counted. Reading seemed to keep him in the here and now, but once that was over they came across another challenge…

"Do I really need to be here Helen?" he sighed in complaint, causing Magnus to drop the liquid from the pipette a moment earlier than she'd intended, and surprising herself in the process.

She sped up to make sure the procedure went correctly, soon responding as she did so, "I am _not_ letting you accidentally rampage through New York the minute it sets in!" _And get yourself killed_, she thought to herself.

"I didn't mean here as in the building," he wrangled, "Can't I just go next door for a little while? I could be in the very next room, working on something useful instead of just... sitting here," _and watching you._

Watching the way rays of light illuminated the odd strand of gold in her hair, the expressions she pulled in her concentration, her delicate yet steady hands creating a symphony in microscopic biology. God he needed a distraction.

"You've been sat still for less than fifteen minutes-"

"Half an hour."

"Nikola…" she ignored him for a second like the child he was clearly pretending to be, preparing an empty syringe and rounding to his place on the island on which she was working. Giving him her best no nonsense stare, he got the picture, shrugging off his jacket and rolling up the sleeve of his bad arm where, on the extremity, his puncture wound was slowly, very slowly, healing. "I need to keep an eye on your condition."

He sighed eying her for the way she'd described it, "It's not like I'm pregnant or anything, it's just a bite." Going back to pouting at his predicament, he hushed up; watching as she abruptly claimed his elbow and withdrew a sample of blood. "The least you could do, is give me a glass of the Bordeaux in the other room."

Fingers pinching against his slightly cold skin, Helen's eyes narrowed a bit, "When was the last time you took your medication?"

He noticeably tensed at the mention of it, which is why they all did their best to avoid the topic whenever they could, but this was important. She looked him in the eye, and he held her gaze defiantly, "The night you got here."

She inclined her head slightly, "Nikola that was four days ago."

"Well I've been a bit distracted," she'd touched a nerve, and he was stung enough that what could've easily been a compliment came out like a petulant accusation.

To his great surprise she smiled as she withdrew the syringe, "I didn't realise I was so distract_ing_," she teased.

As barely veiled an attempt to cheer him up though it was, Nikola, quite predictably, pounced on the opportunity to pass comment – though she had fully expect him to make some charming but over-done allusion to her beauty or wits and instead… "I can think of ways you could be _more_ distracting."

She snapped her head on him then, the cheeky leer he was sending her way sent a shot of excitement through her, just as it put her on edge. He was mocking her, teasing her, gently, nothing new there. Except he had become awfully brazen of late, and she still wasn't entirely sure that she _didn't_ like it. She pursed her lips, and even managed a retort, "Would you rather I wasted time for your personal amusement, or save you from dying in a rabid fit of panic and fear?" she challenged.

He hummed, pretending to think about it, which she caught out of the corner of her eye. Tucking her head behind the lens of the microscope she managed to hide her smile behind the flimsy façade of analysing his blood.

"Your right Helen," he admitted as though it were big of him to do so, then he was grinning at her across the lab table, "presuming of course that you're not just over-reacting, because you can't _bear_ to see me injured. I mean, it's not like I haven't gotten run over and fallen from a twelfth story window before, is it?"

She scoffed for the umpteenth time today, sparing him a glance, "Please, this creature might not have even existed when Vampires ruled the earth – we can't take it for granted that you're immune system will cope."

"And is it?" he asked, arm on the table as he leaned across.

She sighed, because it was, in fact, reacting to the poison – she could tell from the proliferation of antibodies and antitoxins – _still_… "It's too early to tell Nikola, but it's not as fast off the mark as it normally is – clearly." She punctuated the last with a pointed finger at the still seeping wound that was just about scabbing over.

It chastened his argument a little, and he inspected it with a stirring of concern that he wouldn't dare admit. It was nothing. After all, give it a few hours and it would be gone damn it. As great as it was having Magnus' full and concentrated attention on his physiology, he'd much rather be taking her to Central Park, or dinner at Delmonico's, before she flew away again like the pigeons that accumulated near his windows. Anywhere where he wasn't left to stew over his own, uncomfortably, annoyingly romantic thoughts in the midst of her elegantly silent company. Still, her concern was looking more and more vindicated with each passing second, and at least this way she couldn't get away from him when she wanted to... He grinned at that, thinking of how best to make use of this opportunity.

When she reached over for the vial on her left she noticed he was staring, a ghost of that grin still lingering in his eyes, and paused long enough to raise an eyebrow, "What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, remarkably reticent for a man who seemed to have something he wanted to share, but she watched him for a full minute to no effect, and convinced he was done disturbing her, carried on.

She should be so lucky!

"I always wondered what the attraction was."

She didn't stop this time but frowned in irritation, about to ask whether he wanted a cure or not when he continued, explaining what he meant.

"Astor wrote no less than a page on it in his last letter," he carried on airily, as though this was any other conversation. Only his expression, watching her closely, belied the gravity of his intent, "I mean, it was only a ship…"

That made her stop, her entire body rigid, as though she had just felt the floor give beneath her and was about to drop however many storeys to the ground. Lips pressed tightly together, unable to look anywhere but the mid-space dead ahead, she wondered whether he was being purposefully ignorant of her feelings or testing her on purpose, perhaps out of some waspish desire to get his own back. Knowing it was almost certainly the latter she made an effort to exhale normally and carry on with her work, as though nothing had really happened, sadly this also meant formulating a response to what he'd said or else the game was certainly up.

"The largest and fastest of its kind Nikola, it was quite a fea-" her voice wavered, ever so slightly, as she coughed passed the lump forming in her throat, "…a feat of engineering… I'm not surprised Astor found it so intriguing."

The quiver in her voice gave the line of his mouth a grim set of worry as he observed the pain lingering beneath the surface, but it did not deter him. It only made him more honest, "What happened out there Helen?"

He'd asked. This time, for real. His tone gentle, coaxing, but he'd actually dared to ask. She snapped her head at him with a violent expression, ready to tell him that it wasn't any of his business – but his face held none of his typically obnoxious self-assurance. In fact, she could see the genuine concern written in no uncertain terms upon it, the openness he usually kept locked down now exposed to her fully for the first time in decades. He hadn't looked at her like that since… since John.

She blinked, the air caught in her lungs, as she struggled to come out of the other side of this mental fog and reassert her presence here, in the real world. Her fingers came down lightly upon her equipment as she continued best she could, and slowly, quietly, she managed to speak. "It sank." Was all she said, at first, and Nikola was just about to demand she say more than two words when she did just that, "And when it disappeared…" she closed her eyes momentarily, biting the inside of her mouth and trying to keep breathing as she remembered the inky black expanse of water and sky. Littered with bodies and splinters the same size, _screaming_ across the wide, windless sea – she couldn't keep the water from glazing her eyes; "it took them all down with it. Women, infants, young men… old."

He felt a chill at her words that didn't physically exist, and he would have been lying if he'd said she hadn't scared him slightly. He reached over the divide, pressing his hand against hers, struggling to find the words. She smiled sadly up at the touch, understanding instantly and, somehow, drawing some strength from that.

"But… how did you…" he struggled to phrase it, because part of him was just so glad that she had. When he looked into her eyes he had no idea how she managed to express such warmth and acceptance at his invasive curiosity, but she did. "It doesn't matter," he said with a smile that came out wistful and half formed, releasing her hand and looking away. It really didn't matter – not as much as the fact that she had survived.

She watched him retreat for the longest moment, and, had he pursued the matter she would've no doubt clammed up, shut down, threw up the walls she had so deftly constructed over the years. The ones which Watson so dearly loved to pointlessly rail against whenever something _mattered_. But the day James stopped digging like a blood-hound for a bone every time she shut him out was the day she'd know she'd lost him… not so with Nikola. One would be a fool to believe that Nikola backing off meant he had surrendered; it was merely a matter of time before he found another way around.

Perhaps that was why, as she made the final adjustments to the antitoxin, she began to open the metaphorical door. "I didn't hear it, when it struck," she smiled bitterly to herself, keeping her hands busy and avoiding the sight of him, even as his ears pricked up and his attention fell on her completely, "the ship just seemed to slow down…"

"_Martha?" Helen had asked, tying up her dressing gown, her hair in a fly-away mess from the pillow. The maid appeared in her line of sight as she entered the small sitting room, "What's going on?"_

"_No idea ma'm."_

"She shrugged. Not that she could've known. I went to find out what had happened, but no one seemed at all concerned... not even when I got out on deck."

_A great big wall of ice, right before their eyes… it was magnificent up close, bizarre, but beautiful. Children were playing with chucks which had fallen on deck, a few of the men joining in as though it were a game of football. Everyone else had their eyes on this wonder of the Atlantic, and Helen started to feel like maybe she was the only one even slightly worried by the fact that it had come so close. In fact, she glanced at the angle of the ship, relative to the glacial structure and did the math – they must have collided surely?_

"It made sense then. I supposed that we had slowed down to avoid the worst of it, check for damage…"

_Then she blanched, noticing the ship was ever so slightly slanted to the side she was on, even as the iceberg itself slipped away from them._

"I sought out the Captain, but the crewmen stopped me before I could even get that far, doing their best to reassure me – except it was obvious, they didn't actually know for certain themselves."

"So you watched them," she looked to her friend as he listened intently, hand resting against his mouth and chin as he often did when his thoughts were knotted and problematic.

Her lips twitched upwards in response, "Just a little... long enough to see when the crew members started gunning for the lifeboats."

_She stood there frozen in the dark alcove she'd tucked herself into, straining her head around so her wide eyes could see she wasn't imagining things. Dear God. They _were_ sinking._

She swallowed, moistening her dry mouth, "I started helping them round up the passengers from their rooms. No one asked me to," her voice was quiet, "I just did."

"_Ma'm please, this is our job – please, do not alarm our guests so-"_

"_Am I causing a panic? No. And we cannot pretend as if this is not a serious matter." She looked to the confused occupants, "Excuse me, sir, madam? Ready your children for the outside and go up on deck _immediately_."_

"It was… once they realised and I - I tried to help as many people as I could, to convince them," she laughed humourlessly, the disbelief still strong, "we had to _convince_ them to go on deck. Steerage was just a comple…" she couldn't say it, just shook her head, the words teetering at the edge of her tongue and fighting within her, until she gripped hold of herself and clawed back to the surface. "It was hell," She finally uttered, hollowed out by the thought.

For a moment, he thought she had finished her tale, his eyes lowered, unsure of what he could say and feeling guilty, even, for making her relive it. Then, as if remembering that there was more to the story, she spoke up again, her voice more assertive than before, more like her usual self.

"I got back on deck, and the last of the boats were being lowered… the ship was half-under." She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose, shaking her head slightly at the memory of a funnel coming down and crushing the people desperate to escape. Her lips were pushed together so tightly they were pale, and when she spoke again, eyes flying open, Tesla could literally see the colour rushing back, "So I jumped."

Hanging on her every word, Nikola could've sworn his heart stopped beating. The words were dead and hard, devoid – as if to share even part of those emotions would be to open the flood gates. The enormity of what she'd been through… he tried to imagine it – and failed. All the ships he'd sailed on, he'd never once felt the floor dip at an unnatural angle, as water gurgled relentlessly to swallow it up, to deprive every soul of air and suck them down to the lightless depths. He couldn't summon the terror of knowing, knowing that your chances of survival were slim to none, that this is where it would end, in the middle of the Atlantic – because with his vampirism _he_ wouldn't have needed to worry.

"I swam, as far as I could for the nearest lifeboat. Until I couldn't. The cold... God it saps you _so_ fast. I felt myself sinking, could _see_ them, just twenty yards away…" the fragile pause belied the determination which had managed to spark in her eyes, like two flints striking against each other, "something kept me going. One minute I was slipping fast and then I realised I was within spitting distance. I'd been convinced I was…" she took a shuddery breath, trembling, desperate not to cry, her voice tightening, "dying, then suddenly there were voices, women reaching out to me, hauling me on board like a fish, with the first signs of hyperthermia. It was Margaret Brown who spotted me…"

Tesla raised an eyebrow at the name, recognising it instantly as the veritable battle-axe who had caused such a stir in society three years ago when she'd separated from her husband. He'd met James Joseph Brown only once at the Johnsons', and taken quite a shine to the self-made man, though he'd always pegged _Maggie_ as a rather over-bearing shrew, packed full of Irish bluster. Still, for saving Helen's life, he wouldn't hesitate to give her the biggest handshake known to man should he ever see her again.

"She grabbed my hand…" another sad smile, barely holding back the throttling grief that wanted to pour tears from her eyes, "And to think, not two hours before I'd been knocking on her door telling her to get out while she still could."

As she finished his mind finally processed what she'd said. He'd – they'd – come so close to losing her. The drop of fear in his gut grew leaden, even more palpable than when he'd first heard the news that her ship had sunk, or that more than half its occupants had died with it. Now he was confronted with the facts, the reality: that she had been within a breath of death in a way she never had before… alone, without a hope of any of them coming to her rescue – not even Druitt could've teleported in on a fit of romantic nostalgia and swept her away.

Was it luck, or divine intervention? Ultimately it remained a stone cold reminder that though she could theoretically live as long as he, she was still as vulnerable as any human. In the end it was still Nikola who was most likely to outlive them all, and the thought was a terrible one… of being _alone_ at the end of time, of having taken this for granted all these years – that she would always be there, that somehow she would always know how much he cared for her and that would be enough, because she would be there. Always. And now he was faced with the truth. That Helen was exceptionally good at surviving, but one day – however many centuries away that might be – she would not. And she would die; maybe never knowing for certain… and he wouldn't have kissed her like he wanted to, or felt her heart beat against his – skin against skin – out of fear… a fear which meant nothing next to this one, or the one she'd felt staring death in the face.

A sudden dread seeped through his arteries to the base of his skull. It crept up into his frontal lobe, until he closed his eyes at the sensation, gritting his teeth against the headache as it cracked sideways through his grey matter with the force of a bullet.

"Nikola?"

He could hear her, but it was distant, tinny, barely making it through the searing sensation. Shaking his head only managed to make it worse, causing him to groan at the spike of pain and accompanying nausea as the venom started to react. Desperate for something to hold onto, he gripped the lab table with all he could manage.

There was a clatter on the floor as Helen rushed round, urgently trying to prepare the syringe and apply the antidote before the fit took hold and drove him mad. His claws were out, digging into the surface in front of him, his hands and arms shaking as they clung on, sharp vampire teeth bared as he tried to shake off the feeling and clearly failed. He gasped; the effort of trying to fight against it, reign in this loss of control, written all over him. He was hanging by a thread.

She didn't think about her own safety for one second, roughly gripping his arm and injecting him in a single, practiced movement. The liquid went in as he grunted with the pain, leaving behind the needle protruding from his elbow as she tried to scrabble away. Realising too late that he'd caught her arm, Helen felt herself held, then tugged towards him. He snarled at her, with blood-darkened eyes that didn't recognise her, just as they had that autumn, when she'd discovered what he had become. Her heart leapt into her throat without her wanting it to, eying him warily yet determined not to show her fear.

She could feel him shaking right the way through his body, even as she tugged as far away as possible. His temperature was rocketing as in the grip of a fever too.

Wide-eyed she watched, for any sign that he meant to bite, praying the serum would work as his claws pricked into her skin and drew small amounts of blood. Magnus hissed at the sharp sensation, the sound of her pain like the cry of the wind to Tesla's ears. His grip loosened instinctively, enough that she managed to get out of swiping distance before she could draw his attention again. She couldn't take her eyes off the internal battle going on in front of her – vampire, venom and antidote, competing inside one body. She could feel the effort it took, as much as see it, as he gradually reasserted control over himself, and began to feel the benefit of her medicine.

The shaking slipped away, along with the claws which had scored into the woodwork, and even so he continued expelling uneven breaths, audibly riddled with pain. Managing to open his eyes again, in little more than a squint, he seemed shy of her – only sheepishly glancing her way to make sure he hadn't done anything he would regret. Once he'd glanced, of course, he couldn't look away, because she was staring at him with a nervy smile which expressed all the terror and relief, all the disbelief and exultation that he was alright, she was alright, and they were fine.

She breathed out a shaky half-laugh, at the look of exhausted awe on his face, smiling that brilliant genius smile of hers, that exhilarating twinkle in her eye. Even if he had the wherewithal to say something right then she would've stolen the breath from his lungs. He smiled through the pain in return, hearing her next question as though it were underwater and wincing at the hammering still going on in his head.

"Do you have any of your medication here?" To business, the unusual cheeriness of it the only sign that something might've gone wrong.

"Top draw," he managed, hunkering in on himself, swallowing the air whilst gesturing towards it, trying to catch his breath. He felt as if he'd been run into by a coach and four… and then a motorcar… repeatedly.

She wandered over, searching two draws before she found the familiar leather-bound case and opened it out to reveal the vials of plasma-based liquid. Each of the tubes had a letter on, she realised, Greek numbers to indicate the order in which they were prepared. The last one left empty was gamma… so, she presumed the next must be… delta? Her Greek was a little rusty, but she was pretty sure there wasn't a delta in there, and while it wouldn't make a great deal of difference to his recovery, Nikola would never stop complaining if she messed up the system so she really preferred to keep to it. Then she realised what he'd done and flashed him a frustrated sigh, "Really Nikola? _In threes_?"

Picking up stigma, which had been sat next to the right of it anyway, she shook her head in playful admonishment. Honestly, some things never changed, and as he didn't have a great deal of strength for witty repartee she got to mock him without repercussions.

Even by the time she managed to find a clean syringe to administer it, he was still looking worse for wear; his breathing just about even whilst he leaned over, fingers pressed against the surface of the table. He could've swallowed the medication, but it took longer for him to feel the effects than if it entered the blood stream directly, and besides, as far as she knew Nikola still hadn't gotten over his severe disdain for drinking the concoction.

Tapping the bubbles from the liquid she drew in again, moving to the side which hadn't been bitten. The other needle was still in his arm, she noticed, he'd barely moved at all, so she plucked it, gently, garnering a wince from him as she did so. She sympathised, but he didn't glare at her as she might've expected. Instead he seemed rather browbeaten by the whole experience, watching her in a bit of an injured daze, realising, to his own surprise, just how very close she was.

Reaching across him like that had brought her face almost in line with his; he could smell a hint of the soap from his bathroom, mingled with her own unique smell. Then she started rolling back his sleeve, in a manner that was so careful and caring he looked at her with something bordering on astonishment, and made her cheeks redden ever so slightly. Her weight leaned against his leg where she stood, the soft pads of her fingers brushed against his vein, waking every cell of his skin with the echo of her pulse, and then gently, taking his arm in readiness to strike.

As she pushed the plunger down she made the mistake of looking him in the eyes, now no more than a hands-width away – a fathomless look that caught her completely off guard. Was it tenderness? Her stomach fluttered nonetheless. She glanced away the stronger it grew, landing on the sight of his half-parted lips so near, so ready to kiss.

He didn't act fast enough. Before she even self-consciously checked on the progress of the blood-serum being forced beneath his skin, the moment for action had come and gone, and he had been too caught up to even realise it. He could feel the heat radiating from her, as an actual blush found its way onto her flesh, his heart skipping forlornly as he realised that she was already drawing away and nothing could prevent it. Nothing he was willing to risk, at any rate.

He watched her fingers, and the needle, slowly withdrawing from his body, lingering longer than perhaps they should. God why was _she_ so…? Why _her_? Why couldn't it have been anyone but her?

She could feel his attention, daring a glance to see if her mind was playing tricks – but it wasn't. No sooner did her eyes shift than he pretended not to look, and she, likewise, found herself looking awkwardly askance at the metal sheeting so carefully ordered and stacked on the other side of the room.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his attempt at blasé falling a little bit flat to the ears, "for overreacting."

She turned back, holding his completely human gaze with complete understanding, and that slight, coy smile of hers. The kind only Magnus could give. The one which, having just performed wonders before your very eyes took a modest step away and simply said: _don't mention it_. As if all that mattered was that you were okay.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Gah gorram it… I kinda hate myself just a little for doing this to you all but the characters just wouldn't have it any other way. :) Honest to God.

Well folkies, this is the penultimate chapter (wah!) just an epilogue left and honestly I'm feeling oddly sad about that. It's been fun. So much fun that I am going to finish 1916 as quickly as I can so we can hop skip and jump onto Vienna in Springtime because :D Freud, and spies, and abnormals, and Tesla, and Helen, and Gustav Klimt and coffee, and mystical objects of mystery, weapons of mass destruction and… maybe even some nudity *wiggles eyebrows*

In the meantime my thanks go out to my reviewers, followers and favouriters… particularly those of you who've been reading this as its come out – you rock!

**tellie, Ty **and** DaraSerian** – thank you for the encouragement on chapter 15, that was very sweet.

Also – **Ty**, (Spoilers!) I promise the unsinkable woman will appear again… ;)

**UPDATE 14/02/13** - Ooops, just realised I'd read Missouri as Mississippi (again) when I was researching Molly - deffinately not a southern belle, so I've changed that description. And that is all. :)


	18. Chapter 18 - High and Dry

_**Epilogue**_

Helen peeked in through the lid of the large crate currently occupying a sizeable portion of Nikola's sitting room, the sides marked: CAUTION HAZARDOUS CONTENT and DR WATSON, SANCTUARY LONDON in large black print. She grinned at the creatures inside, curled up together and playing, occasionally nibbling on food, before checking that the battery device attached to their inner cage was operational. Which of course it was, Nikola had only hooked it up fifteen minutes ago.

She was going to accompany their package down to the docks that afternoon, just before the cargo ship departed, and make certain that they were knocked out with a sedative for the majority of the journey. With any luck, it would coax them into hibernating.

"All ready for their trip?"

Her head jumped to him from where she was leaned over, bright eyes augmenting his already brimming energy as he came in, readjusting the cuffs of his clean shirt. Much as he dreamed of seeing it destroyed by amorous advances, the ruination of his clothing was simply the result of a leaking battery cell. They hadn't really been designed with containment units in mind so it had taken a little tweaking which had, sadly, resulted in said spillage.

Thankfully Miss Marino had been released from Helen's temporary ward – formerly known as his bedroom – this morning, on strict instructions to rest for another couple of days. Her blood samples sat labelled in Helen's medical bag, ready to assist her in perfecting the antidote for humans. If she planned on living in the same house as them she would probably need it too, Nikola mused, with the amount of emotional trauma she continued to survive.

Peering over her shoulder the vampire pulled a face at the _little demons_ as he now called them, "Oh yeah, sure, _now_ they act all cute…" He glared, still sour at having been bitten and all the irony that scenario brought with it.

Chuckling Helen closed the wooden lid, removing the glass cage from view and securing it with a sizeable padlock. That was when his eyes drifted, and noticed the luggage stacked by the door.

His stomach pitted, "You're going back with them?" He asked plainly, trying, and surprising himself with how well he succeeded, in keeping the disappointment out of his voice.

Somehow she still managed to notice it though, narrowing her eyes momentarily as if trying to gauge the nature of what she'd detected, and then realising, rather self-consciously, that she was staring.

"Well, actually," she looked away, at the floor, at the box, anywhere but, "I have a few things I need to do first…" the flash of hope in his eyes was instantaneous, "I'm not entirely sure how long it will take."

His lips curled up into a smile. "So then…" his voice was soft around the edges, "perhaps we can _finally_ make it to Delmonicos?"

Helen wondered whether she was imagining it, or just allowing herself to get flustered over nothing, but whatever that invitation was laced with was _incredibly_ distracting. So she was a little slow and dazed as she gently nodded her agreement.

"Perhaps," she smirked, regaining her balance, "_if_ we don't run into another nest of abnormals."

He just couldn't stop grinning like a Cheshire cat, and as always that look provoked an inner laugh at his expense; one which simply radiated from her despite all attempts to the contrary.

"Well," his mouth was inexplicably dry as he tried to supress his excitement at the prospect, "I'm sure you could manage to stay until we do."

She eyed him instantly, playfully, as if to ask what made him think she had any intention of waiting around just for _his_ benefit, and was about to say so when-

"I believe _you_, Dr Magnus, still owe me one…" again that argumentative look in her eyes, mixed with just a little bit of indignant ire which heralded a stern telling off, "for those bugs…" he continued to waylay the incoming lecture, his momentary disgust at the memory of cockroaches and maggots slipping over his palm soon replaced with a knowing leer, "you can take my bed whenever you feel like it."

God knows how but she managed not to blush at that – perhaps because it was too obvious, too audacious to be anything but bait, and Magnus prided herself somewhat on having the wit to avoid such traps. "I'll remember that," came out hard and unimpressed, a verbal eye-roll which should have been accompanied with hands on her generous hips – and might have, had she not felt the undercurrent of honesty in what he'd said.

Tesla, for his part, merely watched, stared, as she brushed him off, unable to keep himself still or extinguish the glimmer from fading in his eyes: especially when she got mad. So when she looked at him seriously, the words "Thank you," falling meaningfully from her lips, he shifted uncomfortably and grew still.

"Of course next time I'd prefer not to be relegated to the couch for four nights," he joked.

She raised an eyebrow, "As I recall Nikola, you barely spent two on the couch…"

"Ah, I forgot," he replied, laying the sarcasm on, his hands gesturing across the upper half of his body with the usual flourish – an armour he habitually wore, "once again you distract me in my work to keep me up all night in your service."

The notion could've almost sounded romantic, if it weren't for the lewd inflection he'd deliberately infused it with, "Oh dear lord," she chuckled, turning to hide the great big grin she just couldn't stop, and focus on putting her gloves on. Swiftly passing him by she made to leave the apartment and go about that all important business she'd mentioned; before he charmed her into abandoning the boys with a shipment of Lapillus Diaboli, to take the holiday she'd originally intended to have when she'd bought that godforsaken ticket.

"So, dinner at eight?" he enquired hopefully, as he span round to follow her escape with his observant eyes. He looked more self-assured than he felt… as usual.

When she turned, hand on the door, there was a secretive, intrigued smile on her face that made every one of his hairs stand on end. The thoughts that went on in the depths of that mind swimming alluringly out of his reach.

"I'll look forward to it."

0 0 0

The personal butler opened the door, allowing Magnus to see into the opulent room beyond, and the swathes of overwhelmingly white bouquets currently swamping every available surface. Light streamed through the windows, barely chastened by pale blinds, lending the room an almost heavenly air, and in the centre of it all stood one woman. Her thick brunette hair swept up and away from her seen-it-all-before eyes, thick brows like roman arches. The barest hint of a smile upon her lips, Margaret Brown finally turned, surprised to see a fellow survivor pass through her door. In all honesty, she had thought this would be some journalist's rouse, announcing that they had saved each other from the sea, but this stranger was no stranger at all. She recognised the woman instantly, and in response, Helen gave the warmest and most permanent of smiles.

"My, my," she cooed in her Colorado-tempered mid-west accent, attempting to remain composed and matter-of-fact despite herself, just like the Brit not ten feet away. Mrs Brown's hand curiously found its way into the nape of her neck, as if to play with her necklace. An old girl-hood habit she had never quite shaken off, and had since adapted into an elegant affectation. Realising she was staring, and that her guest seemed too unsteady to make a sound, the Missouri native snapped back to reality with resounding gusto, swooping across the room in a burst of energy to take Helen's hand in her own. Neither woman found themselves at a loss for words very often, but it wasn't until the ridiculousness of their formality overcame Margaret that either of them so much as uttered a word. "Oh my goodness," she chuffed, disbelievingly, "what am I thinking? Let me embrace you!"

She was hardly one for such intimacies with acquaintances, but Helen didn't so much as flinch as Mrs Brown gathered her into open arms and pressed a rather polite hand to her back. It was a gentle hold, one made of relief, and shared experience, and the happiness of being alive.

"Mrs Brown," Magnus managed to clear her throat, as they pulled apart and regarded each other as if looking in a mirror. She smiled hesitantly, encouragingly, "I hope you do not mind me seeking you out-"

"Mind!" she expelled, "Heck no, I'm just pleased as punch, I've…" she seemed to look around her at the bouquets as if struggling to make sense of it all, "Call me Maggie. Please."

Helen raised her eyebrows, she knew of her nickname certainly, but had never expected leave to use it in her presence so soon. They barely knew each other, after all. "Thank you… Maggie, I-"

"My goodness," the larger, more dowdy-faced woman interrupted good-naturedly, lacing her fingers atop Helen's arm as if they were schoolgirl confidants, "but you haven't even told me your name," she started leading them to the coffee table, "You know I only realised once we stepped foot on the Carpathia, and they took you away to the ship's medic."

Helen gave a wistful look at the memory, repressing the wince at being prodded at by that doctor's hands when she'd already told him precisely what was wrong and what she needed.

"_So_?"

"Dr Helen Magnus."

"A doctor! Oh I knew I'd like you old girl," she breezed, offering Helen a coffee which she politely declined in favour of tea, if she had it. Maggie sent her servant hurrying for it, leaving them completely alone. "Say… you don't happen to know… eh, actually, never mind." She grew sombre at the thought of Madeleine Astor and her baby, and decided quite abruptly to change the topic, "I have a daughter, you know, we call her Helen… after my sister…" her voice grew quieter, a sad smile on her lips, "perhaps she was looking out for me, huh?"

Magnus raised an eyebrow and inclined her head, her eyes cast to one corner, "I rather felt it was _you_ looking out for _me_." She looked Maggie in the eyes, resolved to express her complete and utter gratitude in two words, "Thank you, Margaret… I… wouldn't have stood much of a chance-"

"Oh really Doctor," she took Helen's wrist and leaned in jovially as the tea arrived, "square's square I say," she chuckled nervously, eyes welling up slightly with a tinge of guilt. She, Margaret Brown, did not deserve this. She didn't deserve the flowers, the attention, and she certainly did not deserve this woman's praise… after all, all she did was get onto a boat when she was told to and live. Not like the others. Not like Helen, not like the ones who never came back. Her smile was shaky, but it was okay, everything was alright, because Magnus was looking at her with nothing but compassion and understanding beneath that reserved exterior, and eyes which had shared that horrible sight.

"We're still here aren't we?" Maggie said.

Helen nodded quietly, taking up the proffered tea, and allowing that statement to sit on the air – so inadequate and yet so precise. It was a while before Margaret mustered the words to speak into the glassy silence.

"You know Doctor," she shook her head with a disbelieving sigh, "you were something of a miracle to us in Lifeboat 6. I heard the girls talkin' about it, whisperin' all the way to New York."

Slowly, in an attempt to cover her piqued interest, Helen raised her head from the lip of her cup and acknowledged Maggie face to face. The American leaned back with her coffee, a little more relaxed with the attention now on someone more appropriate and deserving, relishing her tale.

She chuckled, "You think I'm joking? All of a sudden, there you were, a head bobbing in the water to our right – half-dead already. I'd seen you, you know, at first I'd thought you were a fish," she laughed again; "you're a strong swimmer! But I couldn't get them to pull closer to you, they didn't dare go back in case we got sucked under and that Hitchens fellow…" she pulled a face that made Helen smile with recognition, "well, we all saw you slip under. Imagine our surprise when you reappeared a yard away! He couldn't argue with us then."

Magnus' eyes narrowed automatically, zeroing in on her description and comparing it to her own remembrances. She _had_ sunk… and it hadn't been the lifeboat coming closer?

"Jeepers, then that dolphin or whale… whatever it was, went and sprayed us all with a kick of its tail as we were reachin' out for you."

_There was nothing but the press of water on her crown, the hard hands of fate grasping her leg, drowning her, pulling her deeper and deeper into darkness… and then her hips, under her arms, pulling her through the heavy water like a dredger on a canal. Forwards, upwards… onwards to…_

She hung on Maggie's every word, "Funniest thing was they weren't fleeing the sinking, not at first anyway. Once I saw the one flapping near us I realised some of the splashin' in the distance were from tails. I mean, I always thought dolphins would've high-tailed it outta there, you know? Surprised they were even there, the water being so cold…" she frowned slightly, drawing herself back to her point, and her guest, with a charming expression, "so you see the girls got it in their heads _they_ must have rescued you," she chuffed a jovial laugh, "I told 'em to start usin' their heads and they might start going somewhere in life. Still, at least they managed not to conjure the notion it was some kinda mermaid, thank the Lord!" Magnus' ears pricked at the word, knowing full well that there were more things beneath the surface than even she knew, "I believe there may well be hope for 'em yet."

Magnus smiled cagily in response, sipping her tea and feeling its warmth slide through her gullet, settling her stomach with the thought, the knowledge, that in this wonderful world, there was always hope. She stared at the liquid for a moment, wondering, with an eager curiosity, whether, perhaps she and her unsung preserver would ever meet again.

_**Fin.**_


	19. Acknowledgements

**Acknowledgements**

I suppose I should really have acknowledged the origin of this title long ago :) but **The Iron Sea** is the name of an album, and track, by **Keane** which did actually supply me with plenty of atmosphere whilst writing. Other chapter headings have been pinched/appropriated from sources as diverse as HP Lovecraft, Disney, Florence & The Machine, Evanescence, Bobby Darrin, Shakespeare and Virginia Wolf, because I just love being a special snowflake. :P

This is the first novel-length fanfiction I've ever written, and technically speaking my first published novel! Haha! Quite frankly there are lots of people who deserve to be thanked for inspiring and prompting me to even bother, and this is where I'd like to do exactly that. First, of course, is **Damian Kindler** and the creators of Sanctuary for their wonderful brain child, which every fan has sorely missed since its cancellation! Then of course, I would never have even bothered watching if it hadn't been for those fabulous actors which brought it all too life – **Amanda Tapping** and **Jonathan Young** in particular. I mean seriously, I have never repeat-watched a series so much in my life (even if it is mostly just the Tesla bits)!

**Sanctuary fans**, you are amazing for keeping this show alive long after its end, and for continuing to write entertaining and awesome fanfics to keep our memories fresh and fun! And especial thanks to all fellow writers/passengers on **the good ship Teslen**. ;)

Speaking of ships, I literally couldn't have written this without the thousands of people on the Internet who are healthily obsessed with this amazing period in history, or that behemoth of a James Cameron movie which has so affected our idea of what the **Titanic** constituted.

Last but by **NO MEANS** least – to all those who reviewed, faved and followed this to the end, my endless thanks! You are awesome. I hope you'll enjoy my future fics, and that you'll keep reviewing. Like Tesla I'm a terrible ego/narcissist who needs constant validation. :D jk but seriously, so many evenings I've come home to find your comments and they've made my day, and sometimes even squee with joy. So thank you, in no particular order goes to:

**Ty**

**HelenaVer**

**DaraSerian**

**Sparky She-Demon**

**Jan**

**JanSuch** (are you two the same person?)

**Library Geek**

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**agrainne24**

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**tellie**

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and any **Guests**!

And anyone who's commented/faved after completion!

**Nikola Tesla and Helen Magnus**

**will return**

**in**

_Vienna in Springtime_

Start the journey now with the prequel: _1916_.

…Man I love James Bond… kudos to anyone who gets that reference... :D


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